Gifts of the Harrygi
by Bob Wright
Summary: Harry finds two of the most valuable gifts of all this Christmas--but will he lose them and more? A "best of" story.
1. Chapter 1

GIFTS OF THE HARRYGI

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is reworking of a story I started a few years back and abandoned, but decided to bring back again now that we know everything. As noted in the logline, this takes place at no particular point in the canonical continuity, so you'll see a couple of things from the beginning and end of the series together here; consider it a "best of" story, if you will. Owing to the sheer volume of Potter fiction on the Web, I can't guarantee for sure this hasn't been done before, but rest assured knowing I'll try to make it as original as I can.

Of course, Harry Potter and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Warner Bros. Pictures, Bloombury Press, Scholastic Inc., and the estate and personage of J.K. Rowling. And now, as always, sit back and enjoy the story.

* * *

Mars was particularly bright tonight. It glowed down through the long shaft of stone opening into the cave, bright as his eyes. At the edge of the shaft, the moon, now a waxing cresent, could just barely be seen. Not a sound could be heard, except for the dripping of water in some back cavern and the drumming of his long, spiderlike fingers on the rocks. And the impatient hissing of the large snake on the floor as it slithered about in increasingly shorter circles. "Patience, Nagini," he said softly, not taking his eyes off the dusky sky above, "You will eat soon enough. It just may be him if he's not more punctual." 

It was indeed at that moment that there was a popping sound behind him. "You are almost late, Rookwood," he said without turning around, "I would hope you have succeeded in what I asked of you."

"Indeed I have, my Lord," Rookwood knelt down and extended a golden orb, "It did take some time to get the right persons in place to accomplish..."

"Thank you, Rookwood," he snatched the orb off him, "Remain here."

He strode off into an adjoining chamber. Rookwood rose back up and glanced about, nervously edging away from the snake, which now seemed to be staring at him in hunger. From the chamber next to theirs there came a low voice uttering something, although the exact words were inaudible to him. Soon his superior returned, looking quite contented. "Very good Rookwood, you have served me well," he commended his underling without the slightest degree of joy, "Now, your arm, please."

Rookwood extended it. The yew wand touched the scar on his wrist, which started glowing black. Within moments the air crackled with more pops as dozens of hooded and masked wizards appeared out of thin air, forming a circle around the two of them. They all bowed in reverence. "Welcome, Death Eaters," he proclaimed softly, pushing Rookwood into the circle with the others, "I have summoned you here for a very important assignment, one that once successfully completed will leave me completely invincible. Our time to execute it is short, and it requires great skill, courage..."

"I will be happy to do it, my Lord," the shortest figure in the circle stepped forward eagerly, "I will not fail you, you can..."

"...and will require someone OTHER than Wormtail," he shoved him contemptuously back into place. He strode slowly around the circle, stopping occasionally to glance over several followers, then moving on. He came to a full stop by the middle of the circle. "You two," he told the two tall figures standing together there, "You will execute the first phase of the plan this very evening. It is perhaps the most important part, so I expect nothing but success from you."

"We will not fail you, my Lord," said the figure on the left with a subservient bow. He marched onwards a few places in the circle. "Lucius my dear friend, I am counting on you to undertake the second phase," he told the now bowing figure before him, "Do it well and we may even be able to trick the stupid, ignorant, foolish Ministry into think maybe..."

There was an abrupt blasting sound from the other side of the cave, making everyone jump. "Sorry, just, just thought I heard something," one of the hooded and masked figures fell prostrate, "Forgive me, Lord."

Growling, he raised his wand upwards, conteplating punishing his wayward follower, but decided that any of the curses he had in mind weren't warranted at the moment. "My precious Bellatrix," he stopped before yet another figure, "You shall carry out the third phase. This shall be the most dangerous part of this whole assignment, one you may well not survive. Regardless, I expect nothing less than success in it."

"To have died in your service can be the greatest honor a true wizard could possibly achieve, my Lord," she told him. He ignored this and walked back to the center of the circle. "Once all has been brought together here in this grand cavern," he announced grandly to him followers, "We will execute this plan at the proper moment. And then not even a god could stop me, certainly not that meddlesome Ministry or the accursed Order. When it is achieved, I can personal kill thousands of Mudbloods each and every night, and destroy the Ministry without their ever knowing it. And most importantly, no matter what protection is around him, I will manage to finally kill, without having to lift a finger..."


	2. Chapter 2

"POTTER!!! DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, POTTER!!!!"

The black-haired boy with the unusual scar sighed and backed away from his bedroom window. So much for the peace and goodwill to all he'd hoped against hope to find at 4 Privet Drive this Christmas season, he thought, slumping down the stairs.

By Harry's estimation, he'd only been back at Privet Drive a week or so, but it seemed nightmarishly longer. One agonizing week since Albus Dumbledore had received a howler from the Death Eaters claiming they'd planted dark magical devices inside the school and would activate them unless all the Muggle-borns were immediately expelled. The Ministry of Magic had promptly sent all the students home until they combed Hogwarts for such devices, but Harry could not imagine it possibly taking this long to do that, and was begininng to wonder if the whole thing hadn't just been some ploy to empty Hogwarts out and claim it as Ministry property; he had during his last trip to Hogsmeade overheard an argument in the Hog's Head between Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge over the way the Ministry was conducting everything, and neither man sounded very pleased with the other.

"A little faster please, boy!" Uncle Vernon half roared at him from the foyer. He'd been in a bad mood all week since Harry had come back, and Harry had since discovered why: he'd been placed on temporary unpaid leave from Grunnings after publicly chewing out a new recruit that could not do anything right at all--a new recruit that was, in fact, his boss's son, on his first day on the job. That fallout, coupled with the stress of unexpectedly having Harry about again had left him constantly simmering in rage all week. "Here," his uncle grumbled darkly once Harry reached him, forcing a shovel into his hands, "There's something wrong with the furnace, so get down there and fix it."

"How can I fix it if I don't know what's wrong!?" Harry had to point out.

"Oh, so sorry, I thought I was in the presence of a wizard here, wasn't I Dudley?" Uncle Vernon turned to the left and smiled at his son, who was watching his favourite holiday film on BBC2--one about a mass murderer in a reindeer suit who took a chainsaw to his victims for no discernable reason, which Harry found quite appalling. "If I were you I'd just look into your crystal ball and figure out what the problem is."

"And you can't do it yourself!?" Harry didn't mean to sound harsh, but the Dursleys had been horrible with him all week, and his patience had grown very thin with them.

"You heard your uncle," Aunt Petunia snapped from the kitchen, "And if there's no tangible results when you come back up, you'll have nothing to eat for the rest of next week." She smiled as she stuck her head out through the door. "More cake, Duddykins?" she asked him with an overly sweet voice that made Harry want to throw up. Dudley clearly didn't need more cake--or anything else for that matter, given the stacks of sweet trays around the armchair he was seated it were at least four feet high. Typically, Aunt Petunia had been babying him since earlier in the week, when Dudley had been given a weeklong suspension from Smeltings for assaulting a teacher who'd failed him in mathematics (no surprise to Harry at all, given that Dudley couldn't count to two without help in the first place). Aunt Petunia had thus spent half the week on the phone with the superintendent at Smeltings, screaming that Dudley was the victim of a teacher too stupid to understand him and calling the man's mother some of the most vilest things imaginable. As Harry reluctantly trudged down the stairs to the basement, he heard her go off on another tirade on this matter, threatening to take the superintendent all the way to Parliament on it.

_"Come on, somebody, just get me out of here soon!"_ he thought to himself. The furnace was completely dead when he reached it. Harry flicked the switch a couple of times, and even gave it a sharp kick, but nothing happened at all. He leaned against the nearest post and tried to weigh his options. With his wand he could easily start the blaze again, but he knew full well the Dursleys would never allow this, and that he'd be cited yet again for underage magic at a time when it definitely would not be right to do so. He was contemplating just telling them it was all right and let them suffer through a freezing night (the temperature had been well below zero the last few nights) when he heard the doorbell ring. His heart soared; could it perhaps be relief, the Order...?"

He shuffled hard up the stairs and listened to the crack on the door. The voice that he heard was surprisingly familiar...but not that of a witch or wizard. "Mr. Dursley," it cracked, sounding very weak, "Please, I have to ask, can I have just one piece of food for tonight? I'll try not to inconvenience you."

Harry couldn't believe it. He looked through the crack. Yes, it was indeed Derek Whitesell...just barely, for he looked famished beyond belief, and there was so much dirt in his hair that it looked black like his own instead of the natural red Harry remembered. Derek, whom Harry had figured he'd never see again. Derek, perhaps the one and only person from his former school who would risk the wrath of Dudley's gang to show some tenderness and concern for Dudley's scraggly cousin. Derek, who had to drop out of school after his parents had died unexpectedly, and from what Harry had heard from the neighbours while listening in several times when he'd had nothing to do when he'd been at Privet Drive had fallen into homelessness and despair. And pure despair for a meal was plastered over the face of the boy who had been the closest thing to a friend Harry had had before he'd gotten his letter from Hogwarts. "Anything, anything at all..." he continued his pleading.

"I have nothing to give you, you filthy urchin!" Uncle Vernon snarled coldly at the desperate boy before him, "Now get off my property before I have you taken in by the law!"

"But Mr. Dursley, it's Christmas, I don't...!" Derek's cries were silenced as Uncle Vernon slammed the door in his face. "Filthy tramps and beggars, Petunia," he grumbled to his wife as she hung up the phone, "Always trying to freeload off decent people like us."

"Always," she nodded firmly, "Do you want me to call the bobbies on him right now, Vernon?"

Harry was overcome with deep rage at how terribly his old classmate was being treated. Without really thinking, he flung the shovel to the ground and shoved the basement door open. "No, you're not calling the bobbies!" he shouted at them, "You're going to get him a full course meal and some nice warm blankets!"

"You watch your tongue!" Aunt Petunia barked harshly at him, "You're on very thin ice with us as it is! And if you think that little tramp deserves anything other than prison, you've got another thing coming!"

"But he could die out there with no food!!" Harry was appalled at how his aunt and uncle saw the situation.

"Die?" Uncle Vernon snorted contemptuously, "Well then, I say let him ruddy well go ahead and do it; it'll go a long way to decreasing the surplus population as it is."

Harry couldn't control himself anymore. "YOU!!!" he thundered as hard as he could, "And YOU, and YOU!!!!" he pointed at his aunt and cousin, "Are lowlife, arrogant, coldhearted, GITS!!!!"

Carnal rage exploded on Uncle Vernon's face, making Harry wish he hadn't said it. "All right, boy," he roared, seizing his cane from the stand behind the door and ignoring the neighbour next door shouting, "Keep it down, Dursley, we're trying to eat in peace here!" "Now you've gone too far!!" the fat man bellowed, raising the cane high and advancing towards Harry, "This time you've crossed the line, and you're going to pay bloody hard for it like you can't possibly...!!!!!!"

Suddenly the doorbell rang again. "NOW WHAT!!??" Uncle Vernon bellowed, "Can no one bloody leave us alone for five minutes now!?" He flung the door open. "I thought I told you to get...!!!!!??"

"Good evening, Mr. Dursley, is it?" came another voice Harry recognized, "My name is Dr. Wendell Granger..."

"I DON'T WANT ANY!!!!!!" Uncle Vernon slammed the door in his face as well. Mr. Granger, however, continued knocking. "Mr. Dursley, my daughter informs me that her friend Harry in fact lives at this address," he called, forcing his head in through the door. Harry's heart leaped. He ran to the side window and looked out. Sure enough, there was Hermione standing behind her parents on the front steps. She caught a glimpse of him in the window and waved excitedly. Until Harry was pulled away from the window by his aunt. "Let go of me!" he shouted.

"Shut up or no food for a month!" she ordered, dragging him towards the unbearable cupboard under the stairs. At the door, Uncle Vernon was hastily pushing Mr. Granger outside. "I assure you, your daughter made a sizeable error, whoever you are, no one named Harry has ever lived here," he said to him quickly, "Now if you won't mind, just remove yourselves from my property..."

"OK Ron, tell Hagrid to go in," Hermione's voice called out behind them, "Harry's uncle's being impossible."

"What the blazes are...!!" Uncle Vernon was cut off by several loud thumps on the roof. His family's eyes shot upwards towards it. "Oh no," Aunt Petunia whimpered softly, "No, no, not...!"

And with that there was a huge explosion as the plug over the fireplace popped out, sending debris flying everywhere. Out of the mess stepped a giant of a man wearing a much-too-small Father Christmas suit...

"Hagrid!" Harry was ecstatic to see the Hogwarts gamekeeper again. Dudley screeched in terror and bolted for the cupboard under the stairs, while his parents scattered in fright. "Ho, ho, ho, Father Hagrid's come to town," he echoed loudly, giving Harry a big hug, "Didn't think yer ol' buddy'd forgetcha, did ya Harry?"

"I sure hoped not," Harry rushed to the front door and opened it for the Grangers. "This is amazing, I mean..." he gave Hermione a friendly hug, "What brings you all here?"

"We were vacationing out by Bristol when the word came in: Hogwarts reopens tomorrow," she told him with a warm smile, "It hasn't been too bad for you here, has it Harry?"

"Please, don't ask," he had no intention of telling her the full details, "Where's Ron; I heard you call...?"

There was a sliding sound from the chimney, and moments later Ron popped into sight dressed in a tacky elf suit. Right behind him were Fred and George, each carrying sacks. Harry couldn't help laughing. "So, I guess the Weasley family is now officially Father Christmas's little helpers this year?" he asked them.

"Tonight we are, Harry," Ron gave him a warm handshake, "I guess Hermione told you by now; it'll be so good to be back. It's been hard without you the last few..."

There came a smashing noise from behind them. Harry's heart jumped to see Uncle Vernon barrelling into the room with a very large rocket launcher in his hand. Harry had noticed a suspicious stack covered with a sheet in the attic when he'd returned to Privet Drive earlier in the week, but had no clue what it had been until now. "ALL RIGHT, ALL OF YOU OUT!" his uncle bellowed, ignoring the neighbour's "SHUT UP OVER THERE, DURSLEY, OR I'M CALLING THE BOBBIES!!!!" echoing from next door. He took dead aim at the Weasleys in the fireplace. "I WANT ALL OF YOU LOT OUT OF HERE IN FIVE SECONDS, OR YOU'LL ALL...!!!!!"

"Ah, cork it Dursley you overcooked goose!" Hagrid seized the launcher's barrel and twisted it backwards as Uncle Vernon fired, causing a loud explosion as the Dursleys' china cabinet completely shattered. There was a high pitched moan. Apparently the sight of her prized Waterford china--some of which had cost close to a hundred thousand pounds--lying in fragments was too much for Aunt Petunia. She keeled backwards into the nearest armchair, whimpering softly with her eyes and mouth wide open. Undaunted, Uncle Vernon swung the launcher at Hagrid, but succeeded only in denting it against his back. "Time I give you a present, Dursley," Hagrid told him firmly. He seized Uncle Vernon by the collar as he tried to run, and, ever so gently, rammed the fat man's head through the ceiling. "There, you like lookin' down on people, try that for a change," he snorted.

"GET ME DOWN FROM HERE YOU FAT OAF!!!" Uncle Vernon's shout was heavily muffled through the ceiling. Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Ya like that, do ya, Harry?" Hagrid nodded, "Well, I'd say it was his time anyway. Speakin' of which, better get your stuff together; we've got a long trip to Bristol ahead of us."

"Tell me, how exactly did you get here?" Harry had to know.

"It's a surprise, Harry," Fred told him with a sly smile, "You'll appreciate it though. Dudley, old chap," he waved at Dudley, who'd dared to sneak out of the closet, thinking the worst was over. The boy quickly slammed the door shut again in terror. "Oh no need to be scared, chum," George knocked on the door, "In fact, Fred and me's got some presents for you, we've been working on them all autumn. Here, try this," he shoved a wrapped package under the door, "It's a patented Weasley Fireworks Filament. One bite and you'll have a real blast. Go on, try it."

"George, later," Ron put a hand on his shoulder, "Mum told us to be back with Harry no later than nine."

"Yes, we'd better move fast; even the slowest Muggle would have heard that explosion," Harry reasoned. "So, I guess they found nothing in the school, then?" he asked as they all tramped upstairs, eager for any wizarding news that he'd been sorely lacking of lately.

"If so, they didn't say anything openly," Hermione joined them, "We've been staying at a hotel on the coast that has wizard businesses operating inside; they sell the Prophet at several stands there, and they said nothing about it."

"Well we know that means absolutely nothing," Harry rolled his eyes, "So your parents came along too this time?"

"It did get a little lonely the last couple of years away from them at the holidays," she admitted, "Plus, Ron's family invited them."

"Yeah, Dad's really interested in how Muggles celebrate the holidays," Ron couldn't suppress a laugh, "He told them to bring a Christmas tree with them so he could take it apart and see how it works."

Harry snorted with laughter himself; that was Mr. Weasley all over. Within minutes his school supplies and Hedwig's cage were all in order and piled outside Number Four. Harry had to stop and look back at the scene behind him in the foyer. He wanted to savor the image of Uncle Vernon's legs kicking frantically in the air as he tried to extricate himself from the ceiling.

"OK Hagrid, we're sending them up," he heard Fred call. He turned to see the twins levitating his items into the air--not the most inconspicuous way of doing it, he supposed, but given that inconspicuous was not a word the twins knew, not all that surprising. He glanced up and saw exactly how Hagrid had gotten everyone to Privet Drive without any Muggles noticing. "So Hagrid, you've taken to riding a sleigh this time of year too?" he called up. For sitting right on the roof was a large sleigh with eight thestrals hooked up to it.

"Dumbledore's orders were to keep out o'the Muggles' way," the gamekeeper called down to him, "Climb on up the drainpipe once this is..."

But Harry was no longer listening. His gaze was diverted down the street, where six doors down another door was being slammed in Derek's face. Even from the distance they were at, Harry couldn't mistake the great sadness in the boy's face as he trudged away into an alley, clearly without any food since Uncle Vernon had denied it to him. He knew immediately what he had to do. "Hold on a minute," he called up to the roof, "I've got something I have to do."

He dashed back inside before anyone could say anything. Dudley had once again dared to exit the closet and was shaking his mother, who was still in complete shock from the destruction of her previously spotless living room. "What do you think you're doing!?" he demanded as Harry grabbed the trays of sweets next to the armchair, "Those are mine!"

"Not anymore, Dudleykins," Harry held them out of his cousin's reach, "These are going to someone who needs it more."

"It's MINE!" Dudley grabbed for them.

"Oh Fred, George, Dudley's hungry," Harry called out. The twins appeared in the doorway, prompting Dudley to rush back to the closet and slam the door. "Here, help me with these," he handed them the trays.

"You put those back, boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the ceiling.

"Oh shut up, you fat cow!" Harry found great pleasure in telling his uncle off and getting away with it. He hefted two trays of his own and followed the twins outside. "What's those for, Harry?" Ron asked him.

"That boy," Harry gestured towards the alley Derek was in with his elbow, "I used to know him well. He's homeless now; he needs..."

He suddenly felt a sharp blast of pain from his scar. He grimaced, dropping the trays to the ground. "Harry, Harry, what's going on!?" Hermione steadied him.

"I don't..." Harry abruptly got the answer to his question as he saw two figures pop out of thin air and start trudging into the alley Derek was in. Two hooded and masked figures to be precise. "Oh no," he breathed, drawing his wand in a flash and taking off towards the alley. If only he wasn't too late...


	3. Chapter 3

"Harry, what do you think you're doing!?" came Hermione's concerned cry from behind him, but Harry paid it no heed. In a flash he peeled into the alley. The taller of the Death Eaters was raising his wand towards Derek, who seemed unaware that he had company. Harry thrust forward his own wand. "Derek, run for it!" he shouted, followed by an echoing, _"Expelliarmus_!" There was a loud bang as the Death Eater's wand flew up in the air. "Potter!" he exclaimed upon turning and seeing who his opponent was, "Get him!" he shouted at his associate, "We'll be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams!"

"_Sectumsempra_!" the other Death Eater fired off a curse. Harry just managed to avoid it, followed by the Severing Charm that was fired a few seconds later. "No you don't!" he jumped in front of the first Death Eater, who had retrived his wand and was about to let Derek have it. "_Protego_!"

The curse was deflected backwards, sending the Death Eater spiraling into a pile of garbage. The man's mask flew off, revealing that he had long hair and a cruel expression. The twins appeared from the head of the alley and leaped on top of him before he could get up. "Hello there, chump," George tossed the man's wand away, "Might as well test this on somebody. Bon appetit."

He shoved one of his Fireworks Filaments down the Death's Eater's throat. The man immediately seized up and clutched his throat as bright purple fireworks exploded out of his mouth. His associate ran over to assist him. "No, no, get the child and stop Potter!" he gasped between explosions.

"Come on, run!" Harry seized Derek's hand and tugged it hard. His former classmate was staring at the scene before him with a very blank, disbelieving expression, for which Harry really couldn't blame him. "DOWN!" he changed his mind and threw the both of them to the ground as the larger Death Eater fired a Cruciatus Curse at them. "_Impedimenta!"_ he shouted, throwing out a spell that left his adversary walking towards them in slow motion. He was just about to run again when he noticed Hagrid's sleigh was diving out of the sky towards where he was standing. "Hagrid, down here!" he fired sparks out of his wand to mark his exact location. Without really thinking, he seized Derek around the waist and hoisted him up into the air. Moments later, Hagrid's massive arm lifted them up onto the sleigh and dumped them into the back seat. The sleigh lurched hard towards the sky, curses flying around it but missing. "Harry, that was crazy!" Ron's hand snaked over the top and helped him upright, "You're lucky Hagrid was able to get this there in time."

"Quite so," Harry looked around, "Fred and George...!?"

"YAAARR!" the two of them popped up from behind the rear of the sleigh, causing him to jump slightly. "Oh no need to be worried, Harry, we caught on too," Fred was grinning from ear to ear as they slid next to him, "Those two just loved everything we gave them. So who's your friend here anyway?"

"Oh this is...Derek, are you all right there?" Harry waved a hand in front of his face. Derek was still in massive shock. Without changing his blank expression, he stared right at Harry. Then at Hagrid in the front seat. Then over the side at the lights of Little Whingling far below. Then back at Harry again. "Harry?" he finally spoke, in the lowest of voices.

"Yes, it's me, Derek."

"Harry?"

"Yes."

"Harry?"

"Are you sure they didn't hit him with something, Harry?" a worried Hermione leaned over the front seat and pressed a hand to Derek's forehead. This snapped the boy out of it. "What's going on here!?" he gasped loudly, shrieking as he took in the sight of the town below again, "What am I doing up here!? Is this some sort of nightmare!?"

"It's OK, Derek, just relax, don't look down if it's too much," Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

"Try one of these, chum, it'll calm you down," George extended another Fireworks Filament.

"George, not helping!" Ron shot him a stern look. He looked a terrified Derek in the face and reassured him, "We're not going to hurt you, we're Harry's friends..."

"But this can't...but Harry's at St. Brutus's, I heard it myself. Aren't you?" Derek looked Harry right in the face, "Tell me I'm dreaming this?"

"No, it's no dream, this is...this is...this is really very, very complicated," Harry didn't know quite how to reveal the situation--ironic, given that normally he'd give anything to be able to tell it to someone he knew. "Um, where to begin? Those people I saved you from, they were Death Eaters, they were probably sent to kill you..."

"Hold on, we are not this high up!" Derek whimpered at the town below and cowered down on the floor of the sleigh, "I don't like heights much!"

"Not t'fear, little bud, we'll drop ya off back at yer place," Hagrid proposed, nudging the team of thestrals towards the southwest, "Where street're ya on?"

"I don't...I don't really have a home," the boy admitted sadly. There was an uncomfortable silence on the sleigh. "Well then, I propose we bring him with us," Fred proposed, "Dad would love to meet a real Muggle up front."

"But what about those laws Hermione's mentioned to us about the secrecy statutes you have?" Mrs. Granger pointed out next to Hagrid, "Wouldn't that be breaking the law?"

"Well what the ruddy Ministry doesn't know isn't going to hurt them, woman," George countered, "And then we'd have to wipe his mind; you wouldn't want to forget about this, would you chap?"

He gave Derek a too-hard slap on the back. Derek turned back to Harry with a deeply imploring gesture that he demanded information on what was going on right now. "Um, Derek, everything you've heard about me being in St. Brutus's is false, my aunt and uncle came up with that as a cover," he admitted, "They don't want people to know...to know I'm really a wizard."

"Wizard!?" his friend's expression was highly incredulous.

"Yes, a wizard," Hermione leaned over the seat, "His parents were wizards too. They were murdered by the most evil wizard in recent times, Lord Vol--"

"DON'T SAY THE NAME!!!!" all three Weasleys screamed simultaneously in her face. Derek raised his eyebrows at them. "You'll thank us later," Ron told him, "Those men who were after you, they were working for this wizard."

"Wizards?" Derek still looked very skeptical, "And you by chance are...?"

"These are my friends," Harry explained, "And they're right, you've got nothing to fear from them," he glanced behind them, just to make sure the Death Eaters weren't somehow following them. The skies, however, were thankfully empty. He turned back to Derek and proceeded to relate the entire story of his life...of the tragic events in Godric's Hollow when he'd been one...how he'd been left at the Dursleys for ten miserable years...how he'd received letter from Hogwarts when he had turned eleven...how Hagrid had come and told him of what had been waiting for him...about how the Hogwarts Express had whisked him away to the school...how he'd befriended Ron and Hermione...how he'd managed to thwart several of Voldemort's schemes...and dozens of other tales of his adventures. Derek took it all in without losing the puzzled expression. Finally, he managed to softly squeak, "So,...you really are a wizard?"

"Yes, I absolutely am," Harry told him, feeling strangely like he was watching himself come to terms with the revelation over again.

"So, this isn't a dream after all?"

"Do diricawls vanish when someone comes close to them?" George proposed matter-of-factually, flashing a "What?" expression when everyone gave him looks that clearly told him that didn't make sense to a Muggle. "I see," Derek nodded softly, "Well, this...I don't quite know what...it sort of makes some sense...explain to me why those Death Eaters, or whatever you said their names were...why would they be after me?"

"Probably just because you're a Muggle," Ron said with a snort of disgust at the Death Eaters' twisted logic, "Offing you would be fun to them. Oh, that reminds me, you hungry?"

He extended a cupcake to the newcomer. Derek eagerly downed it. "Thank you, it's been so long since I've had..." he said between chews, stopping when it apparently became a hair too uncomfortable to bring up the fact he was destitute, "Is that everything you've got?"

"Well, there's a restaurant in the hotel, you can have a full meal there; how far out are we now, Hagrid?" Ron asked the giant of a man.

"Looks like about a hundred 'n fifty kilometers from 'ere," Hagrid shifted to the west, "Should be there in less 'n an hour."

"Well could you, um, at least fly this thing a tad lower, mister," Derek scrunched down against the seat, "As I said, I really don't like heights that much!"

"No prob," Hagrid tapped the reins, prompting the thestrals to go a few feet lower, "Anything fer a special guest."

* * *

It was in fact well over an hour later that the sleigh landed on the roof of a posh Bristol hotel near the sea. Hagrid helped drop Harry's belongings onto the roof. "See ya tomorrow," he called in parting as he rushed the sleigh back into the sky. "Hang on, what exactly's pulling that thing?" Derek inquired, staring after it, "There's not..." 

"Thestrals," Harry explained to him, "You can only see them if you've witnessed death, so hope you'll never have to see them. Well, give me a hand with this trunk, I think it'll take two of us to get this down the stairs."

"No need, Harry," Hermione walked over to the wall next to the door to the stairs and tapped it three times with her wand. Moments later, the entire wall slid open, revealing a lift waiting for them. "We're on the thirteenth floor," she informed Harry, helping with Hedwig's cage, "Room 767."

"I thought skyrises weren't supposed to have a thirteenth floor?" he asked, "That they're bad luck?"

"That's what the Muggles think," Fred explained, shoving a trunk into the lift, "It's amazing how some superstitions can work so well to our advantage. Coming in, chap?"

Derek was glancing warily at the elevator. "I'm not really...is it supposed to work like...is it safe?" he had to know.

"Come on Derek, you can trust us," Harry beckoned for him. His former friend hesitantly put his foot over the threshhold of the lift--then was forced to leap inside when the door started sliding shut suddenly. "Sorry," he said apologetically, "it's just...this is going to take some time getting used to the thought that..."

"Don't feel upset," Harry reassured him, "It took me a little while too when I found out."

"In fact I think we're still trying to get used to it, and we've been here several days," Mr. Granger conceded, "If I'd known what we'd be in for when..."

He stopped as the lift opened on the thirteenth floor. Harry could immediately see why the Grangers were having some difficulty adapting; the torch-lit corridor before them seemed to stretch on forever in the distance, far beyond what he guessed the external dimensions of the hotel were. Plus, additional hallways--far more than the architects could possibly have hoped to achieve using mere Muggle designs--seemed to branch off in every direction. A few owls sat on perches outside their rooms, hooting loudly as the party came past them. It took two turns to the right and a long trip down another staircase before they reached Room 767. Ron gave a loud knock on the door. His mother's head slipped through it. "What took you so long!?" were her greeting words, rather sternly delivered, "Your father and I clearly stipulated you be back by nine; would you care explaining why you're over an hour late with school tomorrow!?" She turned to Harry before anyone could answer and smiled warmly at him. "So nice to see you again, Harry, I hope you had a good trip."

"For the most part, Mrs. Weasley. Um, we had a little incident back on Privet Drive," Harry paused for a moment, deciding to himself that Mrs. Weasley would be better off not knowing about the run-in with the Death Eaters until later. "That's why we're running a little behind. But I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Derek," he led the boy forward, "We were in school together before I got my letter; he'll be staying with us tonight, if that's all right."

"I won't be any trouble, I promise," Derek mumbled softly, apparently used to being told that he would be. Mrs. Weasley, however, seemed delighted beyond words that they'd have company. "Oh it will be no trouble at all," she told him warmly, leading him inside, "You look like you could use a nice cup of hot chocolate. Arthur, we've got company."

"What sort of company, Molly?" Mr. Weasley emerged from the room next door, the disassembled pieces of what appeared to be a child's train set.

"We've brought a Muggle, Dad," Fred told him proudly, "Harry and us, we saved his life."

"You don't say!?" Mr. Weasley's face lit up like a Christmas tree. In a flash he leaped over to Derek and gave his hand a very vigorous pumping. "So pleased to have you," he said very quickly, "If you may, explain to me, how does a dam work? And how is it that your traffic lights know how to change colours at the proper time?"

"Arthur, give the boy some air," his wife chided him, "This must be a fairly large surprise for him to be in this situation."

"You're right about that," Derek gave a soft nod. He still looked rather disoriented. "So, um, they told me there was a restaurant in this place?" he asked.

"Oh certainly," Mr. Weasley told him, still overly excited, "It's down in the basement; just take the lift all the way down. Blessed Muggles, if they only knew what was right underneath them."

"Just be careful, there's a big Ministry meeting going on right about now," George pointed out, "Percy's down there with them."

"So he is here?" Harry asked, having not seen Percy for some time lately.

"He's got his own room here," Ron shook his head, "He stopped in briefly to tell us not to disturb the meeting while it's in progress; something about top secret security measures or something. He was sort of haughty about the whole thing, really." He turned to Derek with a much brighter expression. "What do you say we get that meal for you?"

"I, uh, really don't have any money," the other boy admitted.

"Don't worry, we do," Harry told him, feeling into his pocket for several Galleons that he'd been careful to keep out of the Dursley's sight while he'd been at Privet Drive, "They wouldn't take Muggle money here anyway. I'm kind of starving myself, so this'll work out pretty well."

* * *

A short trip down the lift later, the doors opened onto a long, low-ceilinged alcove underneath the hotel itself. Harry, who had been expecting only the restaurant, was rather surprised to note this area contained many stores, including a Quidditch supply store, a pet store, and a large cauldron dealer. It was almost as if he was stepping into a compressed version of Diagon Alley. His surprise, however, was nothing compared to Derek's, who was finally starting to come to his senses now that both his feet were firmly on the ground. "So, places like this are really everywhere around us?" he inquired, staring in awe at a store selling unicorn horns. 

"Everywhere," Hermione smiled, "It is a great feeling to find it out; I was amazed when I first came into..."

Her expression grew brighter when she noticed a bookstore across from the restaurant. "Oh, they've got the latest edition of _Advanced Transfigurating_ in!" she exclaimed, "I ordered a copy of it last month!"

"Why not, since clearly you have to have every single book in the English language?" Ron quipped. She paid no attention and eagerly rushed into the bookstore to claim her copy. "That's one thing you'll have to get used to," he confided in Derek, "Don't ever disturb her when she's got a book in her hands if you want to live to old age."

He too became distracted by anther business, this one apparently a pub of some sort with shouting crowds inside. "The Cannons game!" he realized, "I forgot they were playing tonight! You go get the table, Harry, I've got to check the score first."

"Cannons?" Derek raised an eyebrow at Harry as Ron scuttled off.

"I'll explain later," Harry had spotted the restaurant. Perhaps given the lateness of the hour, it was empty of customers, except for a young girl with long black hair who looked about Harry's age sitting in the first booth near the door, slowly and rather glumly sipping a cup of tea. Harry strolled up to the counter and glanced over the menu above them. "Roast bangors and mash fine?" he asked Derek. His friend nodded firmly. Within five minutes, the two of them were seated in a booth of their own and eagerly started eating the bangors and mash. "When was the last time you had a good dinner?" Harry had to ask between bites.

"It had to have been at least three days ago," Derek confided in him, "It seems no one in Little Whingling really cares about anyone lower on the ladder than they are, sadly. I'd pretty much had enough of the place and was going to try and get a bus ticket out of there once I'd gotten enough money, but as you could guess, that's easier said than done. And I'm not stealing it, that wouldn't be right, and..."

A sudden movement had caught Harry's eye. He spun to see the last person in the world he wanted to see at the moment striding into the restaurant. "Hide!" he hissed, pushing Derek under the table.

"But what...?" his friend asked. Harry held up his finger to silence him. He glanced warily around the table to watch Draco Malfoy slide up to the counter and pound intently on the service bell. "Can I help you!?" the cashier on duty said with barely restrained impatience.

"You can certainly help me," Malfoy told him with the air of a master commanding a servant, "I want the prized roast boar special, to be delivered to the penthouse. And I want it in no more than ten minutes."

"That'll be twenty galleons then," the cashier said. Malfoy's hands remained in his pockets. "You'll get it when I get it," he told the man off arrogantly, "So be on time."

He started to walk away, thankfully not noticing Harry under his booth. He did, however, stop upon seeing the girl in the first booth. "Oh, so you're here," he told her. He wasn't being friendly. "So they called your mother in to this as well?"

"Look, Draco, I'd rather be alone right now, really," she told him, not looking up at him and not changing expressions.

"Hey, you should be glad they're willing to let her in on their dealings," Malfoy went on lazily, "Of course, since she's Pureblood, she should practically be the Minister's first aide, and I..."

"Will you stop with that, please!?" she glared at him, much to Harry's pleasure, "I've told you before, that has nothing to do with anything, and I don't like it when you bring it up!"

"Well, you're no fun," Malfoy grumbled, "It's no wonder none of us can stand you in the first place. Well, see you tomorrow, I guess."

Again, he was not being friendly. Harry thought he saw the girl's eye's moistening a little as his foe strode off. Come to think of it now, he did remember her being sorted with him so long ago--so it now seemed at least--and that she'd ended up in Slytherin, although her sorting had taken a while. Her name, however, escaped him at the moment.

"What was that all about?" Derek had to know as they rose back up.

"Malfoy," Harry explained, "Very unpleasant type. Better you never meet him at all. If he knew about you, it would be very unpleasant."

His friend nodded softly. "So, the Cannons," he said again, taking another bite, "You said you'd tell me?"

"Oh, yes, right," Harry remembered, "Well, um, Derek, I suppose you wouldn't know what...um..." Again he found himself in the dliemma of not being able to say something he'd thought would just roll off his tongue, "I suppose you haven't seen what Quidditch is?"

"What WHAT is?"

"You haven't seen a game before?" it was the girl, who was now turned around in her booth and watching them. Harry's heart skipped; the last thing he wanted was a Slytherin finding out he was eating dinner with a Muggle inside the wizarding community. "Um, well, he's, he's sort of new here," he gestured at Derek very quickly, "He's um, an, um..."

"Oh well, I guess it can be a little overwhelming to take it all in the first time," the girl not only wasn't suspicious, but seemed rather friendly about the whole thing, "I'm a Ballycastle fan myself; my uncle's got season tickets, although if they don't pick up the play lately, the Cannons'll be ahead of them for the first time in two decades; that's not going to go over too well this off season."

She sighed deeply. Harry could sense some depth of great sadness within her. He calculated he could afford to be friendly. "So, you don't like Malfoy either?" he asked her, "Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing..."

"Don't even start with me about Draco," she rolled her eyes, "It's embarrassing to be in the same house with someone like him. Always acting superior, strutting around like a king and talking about Muggles like they need to be exterminated. I wish Headmaster Dumbledore would just catch him at something and have him expelled--of course, his family would rise a huge fight over it, then they'd get my mother involved in it..."

She sniffed again. "Do I know your mother?" Harry asked.

"You've heard of the F.M. Dickinson Cauldron Company?" she asked him. Harry nodded; the cauldron he'd gotten his first year had in fact been manufactured by this company. "She runs it," the girl admitted, "Millions of galleons a year. Some reports say we have might have more wealth stored up than any other wizarding family in the kingdom. "Of course, it's not nearly as..."

"Emma, come, we're done!" a sharp female voice from the entrance to the restaurant. Harry was surprised to see about a dozen high ranking witches and wizards milling around, some of them being shadowed by the most unwelcome figure of Rita Skeeter; apparently the big Ministry meeting had been in a room that had been made Undetectable, for he'd not seen any other rooms in the atrium. Emma the Slytherin slowly rose up and shuffled over to a tall witch in a purple cloak and worn yellow top hat with a large green.feather in it. She had a tired worn face and looked prematurely older. "We're done here," she told her child without any degree of emotion, "I have much to do still, and you need to be..."

She caught a glimpse of Harry in the restaurant and was immediately staring at him. But not at his scar as everyone else seemed to, Harry realized, but right in his face. And her expression was one of pure malice, to his surprise. "Potter," he heard her breathe softly and dangerously, "Let's go Emma, now."

She half dragged the girl off. Harry saw Emma turn back and flash him a look that seemed to say "Sorry." "Wait," he jumped up and rushed after them, feeling he needed to get an explanation. Only to find Cornelius Fudge himself stepping into his path. "Have you been bothering Amaralda Dickinson's daughter, Potter?" the Minister demanded.

"No, I don't even know who she was, Sir," Harry said, watching the Dickinsons disappear into the lift, "We were just eating in here and..."

"Not from what I've heard," came another voice Harry truthfully did not want to hear at the moment. The toadlike face of Dolores Umbridge frowned towards him. "A message from the Misuse of Underage Magic office came in midway through the meeting, saying there had been a disturbance of some kind on your street, Potter. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you!?"

"Now Dolores, this is not the time to make rash accusations," a more familiar voice could be heard now. Several wizards stepped aside to reveal the sympathetic figure of Albus Dumbledore in the rear of the crowd. "Now I'm sure there is a rational explanation for that report, is there not, Harry?"

"Yes, yes, Headmaster," Harry was relieved he'd have backup for the moment, "There were Death Eaters, they attacked..."

"What's all this about now, Harry?" Derek had joined him, looking inquizzative about the conversation. "Who are you there?" Fudge stared intently at the newcomer, "I can't say I've ever seen you before."

"Oh he's, um, he's, uh, just, um, he's actually Ron's second cousin twice removed," Harry blurted out quickly, "He's staying with us for the holidays."

"Who is?" Ron had unfortunately chosen this moment to reappear.

"Your second cousin here, remember?" Harry told him through gritted teeth. Ron picked up the message. "Oh, oh, of course," he added, putting an arm around Derek, whom Harry realized did in fact bear a strong resemblence to a Weasley with his own red hair, "Yes, uh, he'll, he'll be with us for some time now, he, uh, couldn't come to Hogwarts when he got the letter, his, uh, family lived too far away..."

"...but of course he is more than welcome to stay with us at Hogwarts for as long as he can," Dumbledore spoke up again. There was an almost knowing twinkle in his eye, as if he already knew what had happened over the last few hours, Harry thought.

"Dumbledore, you do realize there are forms to be filled out if...!?" Fudge started to tell him.

'Excuse me, Minister, one side," Harry was discomforted to see Skeeter pushing her way through the crowd of wizards. "Hello there, I'm with the Daily Prophet," she told Derek, digging her Quick-Quotes Quill out of her crcodile skin handbag, How'd you like to be the cover story for tomorrow morning's edition--New Face Joins Wizarding Community for the Holidays?"

"Uh, no, thank you, he wouldn't," Harry jumped between her and Derek, "He's, he's had a very long day, he'd like to get some sleep now."

"You wouldn't be trying to infringe on the freedom of the press, now would you Potter?" she called after him with an edge of determined warning in her voice, "That might make an interesting story itself."

"No comment!" Harry shouted back. He looked back and noticed a look of sheer determination on Skeeter's face. Hopefully he hadn't given her a bad idea, he hoped. "Why'd you do that?" Derek had to know as they detoured into the bookstore to wait for the Ministry officials to depart.

"Trust me, you don't want to spend any time with her," Harry told him, "She'll chew you up and spit you out over and over again. And if you want to stay here without the Ministry coming down n us, she's the last person you want to see."

"Second cousin, Harry?" Ron leaned over his shoulder.

"Give me a break, Ron; it was the best I could come up with under the gun!" Harry protested.

"What was?" Hermione approached, carrying not just one but an entire stack of very large books that made Ron's jaw drop in horror. "We're posing Derek as my cousin for the Ministry," he told her once he got his voice back, "You've got to be broke having all those!"

"I have a discount card, remember," she rminded him. "I hope you know what you were doing with that plan, Harry," she turned to him, "Registering as a wizard when you're not carries very stiff penalties; I read about them in _Criminal Codes; a History of Wizarding Punishments."_

"What kind of penalties?"

"The worst cases could carry life in Azkaban," Hermione pointed out, causing everyone to flinch, "So let's just hope the Ministry doesn't find out anything more about Derek."

Hrry had to agree. But that wasn't all that troubled him. That look Emma's mother had given him had been quite unsettling. What could the cause of that have bee, he wondered?


	4. Chapter 4

"Amaralda Dickinson," Mr. Weasley was scratching his chin back in the hotel room, "No, I can't really have a clue what that look might have meant, Harry. From what I've heard she never really even knew your parents well."

"Well that look was there, Mr. Weasley, and it was directed at me," Harry restated, "What else do you know about her?"

"Apart from the fact she's the single wealthiest witch in all Britain, and that her family's been making cauldrons for close to twelve centuries?" Mr. Weasley shrugged, "She's a very private witch, Harry, never talks to the press, works from noon to midnight, always has the best cauldrons shipped the fastest. Remember, she was just coming out of an intensive meeting, as you described it to me, she may have just wanted to vent, and you were the first person she saw."

"Possible," Harry didn't believe it though. His mind turned to Emma. "Poor girl, stuck alone all day during holiday with no one around."

"Just what she deserves for choosing Slytherin if you ask me, Harry," Ron snorted from the big armchair near the fireplace, where he was showing Derek several of his Hogwarts books. There came a tapping sound at the window. A large great gray owl was perched on the sill. "Well, what have we here?" Mr. Weasley opened the window. and took the parchment in its talons, "Ah, it's for you, Harry. From Dumbledore."

"What about it?" Harry took it and unrolled it. He read it out loud for Ron and Hermione's benefit:

_Harry,_

_When the Hogwarts Express arrives tomorrow, there will be a special carriage for you and Ron's cousin at the station-look for the red roof. It will take you to Hagrid's hut. He'll let you go to Number Twelve to make further arrangements for the young man's safety while he is at Hogwarts. Not a word of this to anyone, please. I must let off here, for I have business at the Ministry to attend to, so all I have to say is to welcome your friend to Hogwarts and express hope that he enjoys his stay._

_Albus Dumbledore_

"It looks like this is more serious than we thought," Hermione said softly once she'd finished reading. She glanced at a completed befuddled Derek. "Those Death Eaters must have had something really bad in mind if Dumbledore's willing to give this much protection for you-invoking the Order directly."

"But I didn't do anything to them, whoever they are!" the boy protested.

"But there's got to be something you don't know about," she scanned him over like an X-ray machine, "Something we've got to find out soon."

"Regardless, I think it's time for bed, all of you," Mrs. Weasley stuck her head out from her bedroom door, "You need to be ready to leave at promptly ten in the morning."

"But wait, you said this Hogwarts Express leaves from London?" Derek inquired, "We'll never get there in time from here."

"Oh don't you worry, dear, we'll get you to King's Cross in time," she reassured him with a warm smile. Seeing that he was plopping down on the floor by the couch, she said kindly, "Oh you don't need to sleep there, Derek dear, there's another bed for you in Harry's room."

"You sure I won't be...?"

"Derek, you don't have to apologize over everything," Harry told him, "It's perfectly fine by me."

Derek smiled fully for the first time that night and followed Harry into the bedroom, magically enlarged to comfortably fit two king sized beds. Derek eagerly jumped onto the one closest to the door. "Oh, so big, so soft!" he mumbled excitedly, rolling about, "It's been too long since I've had a decent bed at night."

"I had a feeling it was that way," Harry unlocked his pet's cage, "I'd like you to meet Hedwig, she makes a great pet; Hedwig, say hello to Derek Robert Whitesell."

Derek extended an arm and rubbed Hedwig's feathers. "I think she likes me," laughed as Hedwig rubbed her head softly against his arm. She turned towards Harry and hooted loudly. "Right, of course," Harry cracked open the window and let her fly outside for a night of hunting. "Don't mind the cold too much," he told Derek as they slipped under the covers, "I think Ron's mother put extra blankets on the bed for us. Hedwig'll be in before dawn, so if you're up then shut it for us." He leaned over on his side. 'So, how does it feel to be going to the best school for witchcraft and wizardry in the whole country, Mr. Whitesell?" he asked his friend.

"I'm still not entirely sure I'm living in reality at the moment, Harry," Derek confessed, "One moment I'm alone and starving in the alley back in Little Whingling, and the next thing I know I'm lying here in a big warm bed with a full course meal in my stomach and surrounded by people who seem to care for me. Part of me doesn't want to go to sleep; that when I wake up, I'll be back in the alley and just be another dirty homeless orphan."

"Oh it's not a dream, Derek, it's very real indeed," Harry smiled at him; he felt even more now like he was talking with his younger, innocent self of a few years ago. "Did you ever dream at night that something better would come along, that there's this wonderful place out there where you'll be accepted and never be without a good meal?" Seeing Derek nod emphatically to this, he said, "Hogwarts is that place; it's really my home now, my real home. Maybe it can be your home too, when you get there-for a little while, anyway."

"A home would be wonderful," Derek sank deeper into the covers, smiling himself, "A home with a loving family. So I know, could you create one with the magic you know?" he asked Harry, sighing when he shook his head. "Well, just got to keep looking," he said softly. There was a brief pause. Then he added: "You know Harry, if I'd known you'd be there to pick me up out of that alley tonight even though we hadn't seen each other for so long, I...I'd thought you'd forgotten about me, like everyone else seems to have."

"I never forget friends, Derek," Harry assured him, "Even after I met Ron and Hermione, you were always on my mind. I do appreciate that you alone tried to be friendly with me when Dudley's back was turned. If there was one person I'd want to share the wizarding world with, it would be you. I hope that puts you at ease a little, doesn't it?"

The response to this was a loud snore. Harry chuckled softly and put his glasses on the nightstand. "Sleep well, Derek," he whispered, blowing out the nightstand's candle and pulling covers over his head, eager for a good night sleep of his own.

* * *

Only it didn't quite work out that way. For he immediately found himself inside a dark cave of some kind, pointing his wand at two familiar figures on the floor. "_Crucio_!" he bellowed, making them wince in extreme pain. "My Lord, please, it was not our fault!" cried the taller one.

_"I accept no failures for anything, Gavertson!"_ Harry hissed cruelly, firing another blast of the Cruciatus Curse at the two of them. The men screamed in utmost agony. "But Harry Potter, he snatched the child away!" the shorter one protested, "It was merely an unlucky accident, My Lord, if you give us another chance...!"

_"Another chance!? You dare to ask me for another chance!?"_

"We can kill Potter for you too, my Lord, it would be our great honor," the taller man said very quickly.

"_Very well,"_ Harry grumbled, "_The two of you get a second chance on the child and Potter. But know that if you fail this time, the penalty shall be harsher than you can both imagine. Now leave my sight, both_ _of you!"_

He fired curses from his wand that sent the two of them scattering out of the cavern. Many hundreds of kilometers away, Harry woke up with a start, clutching his scar. He glanced over at Derek, still blissfully sleeping, unaware of exactly how badly Voldemort wanted him. Harry hoped that whatever security the Order could arrange would be enough-he couldn't bear to lose a friend again so quickly.

* * *

He was awakened the next morning by someone poking his shoulder. "Not yet!" he mumbled softly.

"Come on Harry, time to wake up!" Fred called excitedly in his ear, "And I've got a treat for you. Read this."

He extended the newspaper in his hand forward. Harry was surprised at the image on the front cover: Uncle Vernon and a still comatose-looking Aunt Petunia being loaded into the back of a padded wagon in straitjackets. COUPLE COMMITTED FOLLOWING LITTLE WHINGLING FRACAS stated the headline. Harry eagerly read on:

_A Little Whingling couple were sent to Our Lady of the Useless Miracle Psychiatric Hospital in Suffolk following an altercation at their residence last night. Authorities received a call around six claiming that shots were being fired at the residence of Vernon Q. Dursley, 4 Privet Drive. Police upon arriving found Mr. Dursley with his head somehow stuck in the living room ceiling, ranting about a "giant beast of a man" who'd broken in and attacked him and his family. No signs of a break-in were visible, however, and the neighbours testified they'd seen no one around the house all day. Mrs. Arabella Figg, 11 Privet Drive, says she was out walking and heard Mr. Dursley go into a wild shouting spree for no particular reason whatsoever. A search of the house revealed caches of both large and small firearms in the attic that M:I-5 contacts tell this paper have been reported missing for some time now. Interrogated as to why he had an illegal stash of weapons on his premises, Mr. Dursley growled that he had to be ready in case "their lot," came, and refused to elaborate on who "they" might be._

_An attempt was made to get information out of Mrs. Dursley afterwards, but she had apparently experienced a total nervous breakdown from the evening's events and could only muster the words, "Nephew...their lot...giants...sister..." Neighbours told the authorities that the Dursleys had told them their nephew, Harold James Potter, went to St. Brutus's, but records show no one with their nephew's name was ever enrolled there, and the school could provide no help as to what the rest of her ramblings could possibly mean. Authorities now suspect the nephew could have been a victim of foul play. _

_"It was getting almost surreal by that point in the investigation," Chief Constable I. L. Ketcham told this paper, "These people seemed increasingly unstable, bordering on outright insane, and I was wondering about the safety of my men in there, not to mention the safety of their son. So I called Our Lady and told them to send a unit down, that I was dealing with a pair of looneys." _

_Mr. Dursley, upon learning he was to be institutionalized, assaulted the psychiatric staff and had to be straitjacketed and tranquilized. Although not imminently deemed a threat, the procedure was repeated on Mrs. Dursley. The two of them were then taken to Our Lady in Suffolk for what the asylum has informed this paper will be a weeklong evaluation of both Dursleys' mental health. When contacted concerning Mr. Dursley's condition, Mr. Giles Fireham, president of Grunnings Drill Corporation, at which Mr. Dursley works, told this paper that he had to put Mr. Dursley on leave lately for questionable behaviour. _

_"It's not like Vernon," he said over the phone, "He's always been a model worker up to now. My guess is he's been under too much stress lately and just snapped. I hope the asylum can fix him in the end." _

_Regardless of whether they can or not, Mr. Dursley will be facing changes of unlawful possession of deadly weapons and assaulting officers of the law once the evaluation of his sanity is complete. His wife may also face complicity charges in this matter. Their son was taken by Child Services to a foster residence not far off, and will remain there pending the results of the tests on his parents. Police, meanwhile, will be searching 4 Privet Drive from top to bottom for any clues as to what set the Dursley's tirade off, and to see if their nephew has in fact been murdered by them... _

Harry couldn't believe it: the Dursleys' perfectly ordered existence was now wrecked beyond any capability of their to fix it. Part of him wished he could have been there to see them carted off, to see the expressions on their faces and knowing that Dudley would at least for a moment end up in a normal lifestyle for which he was ill-equipped. It was like a belated birthday present. "But, won't he Ministry just erase all this from everyone's minds?" he realized with an abrupt heart sag.

"Oh, they don't move in right away if other Muggles think the person's insane," Fred grinned, "I'd say they'll let your uncle sweat it outa little bit longer before they wipe his mind good."

"Last call if you want breakfast," Mrs. Weasley's firm voice echoed into the bedroom. Harry dressed as quickly as he could and sauntered into the living room. "What've you got, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked her.

"The finest waffles the hotel could cook up," she set a plate before him on the table that easily contained two helpings of the waffles, "I always make sure my guests have the best meals."

There came a loud zap to Harry's left, followed by a small blast of weak purple sparks. "No, no, you'll have to put more emphasis into it!" Hermione was frustratedly telling Derek, who was holding what Harry recognized as Ron's old wand that had been broken in his second year. "You're going to have to show some semblance of proficiency at this if we're going to pull this off!" she said firmly.

"Give him a break, Hermione," Ron snorted, "Not everyone who picks up a wand becomes an instant expert. We're giving him that old piece of trash to use, Harry," he explained upon noticing him, "It'll help the cover that he's new to the Wizarding world and couldn't afford anything better."

"But as I've said before, it does have to look natural, and clearly we've got a long way to go there," Hermione took hold of Derek's arm and held it out straight. "Now see that candelabra over there? See if you can at least try to change its color. Concentrate, imagine it, and say the words with feeling."

Derek squinted his eyes shut. "Um...presto chango!" he called out, prompting only a weak pop of yellow sparks from the wand. Hermione groaned in frustration. "That's not the spell, I told you spells don't work that way!" she said, barely able to contain her disappointment, "You've going to have to give all the books I've got on basic spells a look-over when we're on the Hogwarts Express."

"But then he'll be reading till he's eighty," Ron quipped, "You wouldn't want to take away any fun he might have in life like that, would you Hermione?"

She glared at him. The door to the hotel room swung open. "Look sharp, Weasleys," Mr. Weasley was pushing several luggage racks, "Time to move on out and go back to school."

"Drat," Harry heard George mutter from the den, "I was really hoping they'd forget!"

In no time everyone's luggage was loaded onto the racks. Quick goodbyes were said to the Grangers, who would be staying in the hotel while the Weasleys took everyone to King's Cross, and soon the large group was in the lift heading down the basement. The doors opened into a small clearing along the road behind the hotel. "You never did tell me how we'd get to London in time, sir," Derek pointed out to Mr. Weasley as the latter approached the road.

"Please, call me Arthur," he said, smiling nonetheless, "Sir just sounds too formal, Derek my lad. And we will be going to London, to answer your question, in style."

He extended his wand hand into the road. Seconds later came the pop of the shockingly purple Knight's Bus appearing out of thin air, making Derek gasp in surprise. "All aboard," the familiar face of Stan Shunpike appeared in the doorway, "King's Cross I presume?"

With several waves of his and the Weasleys' wands, the luggage was levitated on board. Harry led everyone up the steps, waving hello to wizened old Ernie Prang at the wheel. He took note that the first level was today decorated for Christmas; a very large tree, almost up to the twelve foot ceiling-stood on the port side of the passenger area, and a roaring fireplace surrounded by presents was on the starboard side. Several huge armchairs were scattered in between. "There can't be enough room for all this!" were Derek's first words to this strange new development, but there was a look of rapt wonder in his eyes, as if now that his fear of the unknown had passed, he was ready to take whatever wonder came next.

"'Nuff room ter satisfy all our passengers' needs," Stan stared him over, "Truthly, haffink ever seen you on this bus before, Mr...?"

"He's my cousin," Ron blurted out almost automatically.

"Cousin?" the even more familiar face of Neville Longbotton appeared from the depths of one of the armchairs, "You never said anything about a cousin, Ron."

"Oh hello Neville," Harry greeted him, thinking hard over what information was right to reveal to the usually trustworthy Neville, "Derek, this is Neville Longbottom, he's in Gryffindor with us; Neville, Derek Whitesell."

"Pleasure to meet you, Derek," Neville gave his hand perhaps too vigorous a pumping, "You're first time at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, indeed," the homeless boy told him, "I was told that it's a nice place. Is it?"

"Pretty much, yes," Neville nodded, "Especially Herbology; I can give you some tips on Herbology if you need them."

"He'd greatly appreciate that, Neville," Harry nodded, "He's, um, had a little trouble with it in preliminary..."

"All seated!" came Stan's magically amplified voice from all over the bus, "Next stop, King's Cross Station, the heart 'o London. Hit 'er, Ernie."

Derek tumbled into an armrest as the bus took off at well over a hundred kilometers an hour. "How's it doing that!?" he cried, jumping as he watched several overpasses slide out of their way on the road ahead.

"'Ts not how it does it 'ts important," Stan came in again and leaned close to him, "All't matters's you'll be at King's Cross in less'n 'alf an hour. Refreshments're on the fourth level."

"Um, no thanks, I'm kind of not hungry right about now," the homeless boy seized both armrests as several factories now jumped out of their way.

"Nothing's going to happen," Neville patted his hand, "We're well in control here. So, where were your parents from again?"

"Mercia," Hermione interceded before Derek could say anything, "Half-bloods, Ron's told me."

Ron nodded feverishly. If Neville suspected anything, he didn't say it. "Your parents come to see you off?" he asked Derek.

"They died a long time ago," Derek admitted sadly, "You should be lucky you have yours, a good...are you all right there?"

Tears were flowing in Neville's eyes from the mention of his parents. "It's OK, Neville," Harry moved quickly to diffuse the situation, "He didn't mean any harm..."

"I know, Harry, I know," Neville settled down into his seat and glanced drearily at the window. "Well, while we've got time then, Derek," Hermione came over to his seat with close to fifty books of all shapes and sizes in hand, "Let's go over the basics, one at a time."

"Nice knowing you, Derek," Ron sniggered, trying to open one of the presents before the fireplace. "Bloody Unwrapable Hex!" he grumbled to himself, unable to tear even the smallest hole in it, "I always wished they'd take these off these presents before Christmas comes!"

Harry chuckled to himself. The rest of the trip on the Knight's Bus went relatively smoothly-if one were to discount Stan forcing the twins out of the third level for trying to give their creations to sleeping old women. Between he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, Derek was very soon indoctrinated into the ways of life at Hogwarts and the classes therein-Neville gave Derek so much Herbology information that he had to ask him to write some of it down for them. Several other familiar faces popped into their level, among them Oliver Wood, to tell Harry he'd come up with the secret play to end all secret plays during the break (the twins sighed and rolled their eyes), Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, whom been on the second floor together for the last three hours, and about thirty kilometers from Birmingham, Emma Dickinson the Slytherin came down the marble stairs to ask Stan for a hot chocolate and crackers. She shot a brief glance in Harry's direction-one he interpreted as saying she'd like to have another word with him under better circumstances-before slipping quietly back upstairs. "Don't even think about it, Harry," Ron had seen the look as well.

"Why not?"

"She's a Slytherin, Harry, you know they're all crooked," Ron said matter-of-factually, "It would just be another one of dear Draco's wonderful schemes to get you expelled."

"And if you're..." Harry was drowned out by the squeal of brakes. They were now right in front of King's Cross. "Four minutes to go," Mrs. Weasley observed as they hopped down to the sidewalk, "Better put some leg power into it, Weasleys."

With all of them straining hard with their loads, they still had two and a half minutes to go at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "Are you sure this is going to work!?" Derek had to ask, watching Fred and George run towards the barrier and disappear.

"You just believe and it'll go just fine," she told him, "Harry?"

"Lend me your hand, Derek," Harry took hold of it and, with a deep breath-there was no knowing whether the barrier would noticed Derek was a Muggle and leave him on the other side-ran forwards as fast as he could. There was low whooshing sound as they came through to the other side, and he was delighted his friend was still with them. Derek stared in wonder at the giant red Hogwarts Express belching smoke before them. "Isn't she a beauty?" Harry confided in him, "The first time I laid eyes on her, I..."

"Come on Harry, last call!" Hermione was already on board and waving them towards the compartment she and Ron were in. Harry and Derek leaped inside just before the conductor slammed the door shut. "And this thing does have a perfect safety record?" Derek had to ask again, largely drowned out by the Express's whistle signaling the return to the school.

"As long as no Dementors come in, everything's tip top shape with this one," Ron reassured him, "You're on your way to the greatest place in the world, Derek, nothing's going to screw it up."

* * *

He may not have spoken those words, however, if he hadn't noticed the pair of figures in black cloaks slipping through the barricade just before the train left, then going around to the other end of the platform so they could slide unnoticed underneath the train and take hold, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.


	5. Chapter 5

"No, no, no, no, no!" Hermione raised her hands in diappointment as the latest levitation spell Derek was trying to cast on his Runes book failed, sending it falling with a loud thunk on her head, "I've told you, this takes skill and proper spell ennunciation!"

"Give him a break, Hermione," Harry tried to tell her, "It takes time for most people."

"Time we don't have," she rubbed her head and glanced out the window of their compartment, "We'll be at Hogwarts within half an hour; that's not nearly enough..."

Just then the compartment door slid open. Harry could stop himself from groaning as the last person he wanted to see at the moment strode inside. "Well, this is the famous Weasley cousin that people all up and down the train are talking about," Malfoy fixed Derek with a superior gaze, "Funny, I've never heard of you before."

"Please, Malfoy, we're not in the mood right now," Harry told him as calmly as he could, "So please just walk out the door and don't..."

"Oh we'll leave all right, Potter, but when we feel good and ready to, right boys?" Malfoy glanced knowingly at the equally unwelcome Goyle and Crabbe in the doorway. He snatched Ron's old wand out of Derek's hand before the latter could protest. "Why am I not surrpised?" he sneered, "I half expected it to be made of cardboard, since you Weasleys can't afford proper wands in the first place."

"Say that again!?" Ron leaped to his feet, indignant.

"You heard what I said," Malfoy taunted him, "If your cousin here has any brains, he should just go to the rear of the train and get off, because he'll fit in at Hogwarts about as well as you..."

"What's going on in here?" it was the witch with the snack cart in the hallway. Malfoy abruptly shuffled towards the door. "We were just leaving, if it's any of your business in the first place," he told her roughly before slinking off with his associates. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "That was too close," he said out loud.

"What was?" the witch was listening in.

"Oh, uh, they almost...nothing," Harry told her, "Could you give us...?"

Suddenly, without any advance warning, the train lurched to a sudden stop, sending both the witch and her tray crashing out of sight up the hall. "What's this now!?" Ron cried out, grabbing hold of the luggage railing above to keep from falling himself, "Something on the tracks?"

"I don't think so," Hermione had braced herself against the wall, "This section of the tracks is past any Muggle development. It's got to be something else."

Harry could now make out another sound getting louder from the hall...the sound of compartment doors being thrown open with loud bangs. Without really thinking he threw open his trunk and dug through it frantically for his father's invisibility cloak. "Quick, under here!" he threw it over Derek, then pushed Ron and Hermione under it as well.

"Harry, what's...?"

"Shhh!" Harry hissed, shoving the trunk underneath the cloak before squeezing in himself. This was not a moment too soon, for seconds later the door to their compartment was flung open, and a hooded figure leaned in and scanned every inch of the room. Harry hoped he could not hear their frantic breathing. "Nothing?" came the familiar voice from the other night from the other side of the door.

"Nothing, Gaspard!" the hooded figure cursed out loud, "We saw him get on board; he's got to be somewhere on...!"

"You two, get out of here!" a man in a conductor's uniform lunged forward and grabbed the figure's arm. Several more wizards appeared as well and dragged him and his associate out of sight. Making sure he stayed under the cloak, Harry slid over to the window and watched as the men were thrown off the train, which started forward again and quickly left them behind. He slipped out from under the cloak. "How did they get on board?" he asked out loud, "Shouldn't there be anti-hitchhiker spells on here?"

"As a matter of fact not," Hermione shook her head, "It's not Ministry protocol yet; I've read their entire transportation law structure." She helped Derek to his feet, "You are all right, aren't you?"

"I think so," Derek picked up the cloak and examined it in wonder, "Did this make us invisible? I could swear whoever that was was looking right at us."

"Yes, it does makes us invisible," Harry explained, "It belonged to my father once." He threw the compartment door shut and slid the lock into place, hoping they would not be disturbed for the rest of the trip to Hogwarts. Deep down he was very worried now; if the Death Eaters could so easily penetrate the Hogwarts Express, what could stop them from getting into the castle?

* * *

The rest of the student body were very subdued from the intrusion when the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station about twenty minutes later. Several groups mumbled excitedly about the event, while others seemed quiet and even outright edgy. Fortunately for Harry's interests, the red-roofed carriage Dumbledore had mentioned in his letter was waiting right by the station. He help lift Derek--busy examining the invisibility cloak further--up into the seat, then joined Ron and Hermione across from him as the carriage pulled out, first with the rest of the fleet, then diverting towards the Forbidden Forest. It lurched to a stop outside of Hagid's hut. The gamekeeper opened the door a crack when they knocked on it. "Ya weren't followed, were ya?" he asked them. 

"No, but we had a rather nasty scare, Hagrid," Harry related the near miss on the train. Hagrid nodded solemnly when he'd finished. "Dumbledore was right; this is sumpin' big ther plannin'," he mumbled, unable to keep from glancing at Derek, "Well, I got Floo Powder on the table; go to Grimmault Place right away."

"Floo?" Derek inquired.

"It's how we travel long distance," Ron explained to him, taking a handful of the powder and tossing it into Hagrid's roaring fireplace, "Better come with me; I've had the most experience doing this. Number Twelve Grimmault Place."

He took Derek's hand and dove into the fireplace with a low pop. Harry let Hermione go on ahead of him. "Watch this end, Hagrid, we don't know if they were still following us," he told the gamekeeper before leaping into the flames himself. He landed with a thud on the cold floor of Number Twelve Grimmault Place, his glasses flying across the floor from the impact. "Got to be careful with that, Harry," came the familiar voice of his godfather from nearby, "How've you been lately?"

"Decent, Sirius," Harry put his glasses back on, "I'd like you to meet Derek Whitesell, he's the boy they've been after. Derek, Sirius Black, he's my godfather."

"Pleasure to meet you, Derek," Sirius gave the boy's hand a strong pumping, "Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine. Remus, they're here," he called into the next room.

"So you're with the, uh, that group Harry told me about, the Phoenixes?" Derek asked him.

"The Order of the Phoenix," the worn-down figure of Remus Lupin entered the room, "We've been instructed by Dumbledore to arrange for your protection while you're at Hogwarts."

"But I still don't understand, why are these Death Eaters, as you call them, after me?" the orphan had to ask him.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that, young man," Lupin shook his head, "But lately Voldemort's supporters having been increasing their activity all over Britain. We know something's going on, but we can't quite find any evidence what it's about yet."

"We heard one of men who stormed the train earlier was named Gaspard," came Ron's voice from the other room, "Does that help at all?"

"So it's them," Sirius's brow furled. "So you know him?" Harry inquired.

"Gaspard and Theodoric Gavertson have been in Voldemort's inner circle for close to twenty years by most accounts," his godfather told him, "Even before his rise to power, the two of them were leading a movement to have all Muggles in Britain eradicated. Voldemort's appearance was like their finest dream had been granted. Some of the worst wizarding attacks on Muggles during his reign of terror were done under their watch. I was assigned to bring them in for about a year and a half, but they always managed to stay one step ahead. We finally got some proof and witnesses just after Voldemort fell, but by then they'd fled the country to avoid Azkaban, and really couldn't do much myself, at that point," a dark snarl crossed his lips at the memory of being in Azkaban himself. "Bringing Gaspard and Theodoric in would be a great pleasure if...careful there now."

For Derek had been looking behind the curtain against the wall. From underneath it came Mrs. Black's carnal roar: "BLOOD TRAITORS! MUGGLE-LOVING LICE! DISGRACE TO THE BLACK NAME!!" Harry pulled the curtain back shut. "You'll learn to be more careful with these things," he told his shaken friend.

"It's ready," came Hermione's voice from the other room.

"Very well," Lupin called back. "Young man, if you may," he gestured gently for Derek to follow him into the room. Harry stepped in behind. "So, is it just you two here?" he asked Sirius, having been aware of how empty Grimmault Place had seemed.

"Most of the rest of the Order's on assignment at the moment," Sirius explained, "So yes, it's pretty much Professor Lupin and myself here for the holidays. It's probably better since he and I really have nowhere else to go anyway." He sighed deeply. "You know, Harry, your father threw a wonderful Christmas party every year. From our first year I always tried to be there. It was a welcome break from the...festivities they threw here," his face contorted in rage, "My father always picking up stray Muggles off the street and putting them on display for Regulus to use his magic on. Said it made him a man. I wanted to just heave them all through the window if I could, it made me..."

Harry wasn't listening anymore. He was staring at the rather foul-looking liquid Ron was pouring into a chalice on the table in front of them. Derek too looked rather repulsed. "You expect me to drink that?" he asked Lupin hesitantly.

"It will not harm you," the former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher explained to him, "This will mark your location only to us at all times."

"It's a standard protective spell, really," Hermione tried to reassure the boy as well, "Most wizards under protection use this, and it has never been known to cause any side effects. But I'm wondering," she glanced up at the two adult wizards with a quizzical glance, "Is this really going to last long enough? It looks like there's only enough for a couple of days' protection."

"I know, supplies have been harder to find lately," Lupin admitted, "We'll try and see if we can get more for him by the end of the week. Well, she said there was no complications."

He glanced firmly but gently at Derek. Derek shrugged and downed the drink. His face wretched briefly, then went surprisingly calm. "Actually, it feels just like tomato soup," he admitted, "Very good."

"See, we told you there'd be no problems," Ron patted him on the back, "Well, if that's all, guys, we'd probably be off before..."

"One minute, Ron," Harry had something he'd been meaning to ask since last night. Turning to the men, he inquired, "What do you two know about Amaralda Dickinson? I met her last night, and she seemed a little upset."

"Oh Harry, would you just let it go!?" Ron sighed, "It doesn't concern us."

"Well, what do you know?" Harry implored Sirius and Lupin anyway. His eyebrows went up slightly as he noticed a small glance between the two of them. "So you ran into her?" Lupin asked.

"And she had this furious look in her eye when she saw me," Harry told him.

"Well, really I'm not all that surprised," Sirius admitted, "Amaralda Dickinson has born an open grudge against the Order and everyone in it since her husband was killed around the time you were born."

"That's absolutely awful," Hermione shuddered, "What happened?"

"She was in love with Tiberius Castlebert at the time; he was head of a dragon breeding center in Sussex," Lupin explained, "Then, about nine months or so before Voldemort fell, he overheard a plot by the Death Eaters to kill all the Ministry department heads at a conference on an island off the coast of Wales. He told the Order everything, and we put him into hiding, but unfortunately it didn't go right. Six Death Eaters breeched the defenses and killed him; he never had much of a chance, and there wasn't much left afterwards."

A cold shiver ran down Harry's spine. "Did, did they ever catch the ones who did it?" he had to know.

"Well," Sirius raised his fingers and counted off names, "Evan Rosier was the ringleader; several other Death Eaters captured later confirmed he'd been in charge. Another was Thaddeus Devlin; he was caught shortly thereafter, but refused to name names and was killed in Azkaban after serving three months of a life sentence. The other four we're not absolutely sure about, but we're pretty convinced the Gavertson brothers were among them, Harry. Tiberius Castlebert spoke very strongly in favor of Muggle rights, and he'd openly criticized the Gavertsons several times."

"So then Mrs. Dickinson...she held you all responsible for his death?" Harry realized.

"And then some," Sirius shuddered, "I myself received several Howlers in which she shouted that she held me responsible for letting the Gavertsons roam free and get away with it. We'd given her our word no harm would come to him, and she took that as a supreme betrayal of trust. She never talked to anyone associated with the Order from that day forward, and from what I've heard, she's never trusted anyone again, and works long hours just to dull the pain which can never fully go away. But at least she has her daughter."

Harry recalled the rather pained look on Emma's face in the restaurant when she'd mentioned her mother. He wondered whether Mrs. Dickinson really had her daughter at all.

"Well, it looks like it's getting a little late," Lupin glanced at the clock on the wall, "You'd probably better be off. And don't you worry, young man," he told Derek reassuringly, "We'll have someone on alert at Hogwarts around the clock, Dumbledore's already made clear he wants as much. So try and enjoy your stay there. Harry, you Ron and Hermione keep your eye on him too; if he is in some way connected with the Death Eaters' activity, they'll stop at nothing to get him."

"We will," Harry promised. He remained silent as they went back through the fireplace and out of Hagrid's hut and walked along the path towards the castle. "But why still the look at me?" he finally asked out loud.

"Huh?" Hermione frowned at him.

"Amaralda Dickinson specifically said my name when she saw me," he told her, "She knows me."

"Harry, will you just forget about the Dickinsons!?" Ron all but begged him, "Our focus here is keeping Derek safe, not to dig up information on Slytherins whose lives are none of our business anyway."

"But there's something..." Harry trailed off, noticing the awed expression on Derek's face as they crested the hill. Hogwarts stood before them in the glow of the afternoon sun like Camelot. "It's incredible," the boy breathed.

"Quite so," Harry put an arm around him, "Derek WHitesell, welcome to Hogwarts."


	6. Chapter 6

"Amazing, isn't it?" Ron asked Derek as they walked through the entrance hall of the castle. The boy's eyes were practically popping out of his head as he took in everything around them. "It's more than amazing," he whispered in a soft voice, jumping a little when he saw several of the figures in the pictures were waving at him, "It's almost unreal. It's like nothing I ever thought possible. Too...too good," his expression dropped again, "I kind of feel like...I don't deserve to be here."

"Now don't think that," Hermione put a reassuring arm around him, "All first years get nervous the first time, but we all fit in some way or another. You will too while you're here."

"I felt out of place too the first time I saw it too, Derek--hello there, Friar," Harry waved to the Hufflepuff ghost, who unexpectedly came out of the wall on the left, causing his friend to jump in shock, "Don't worry, the ghosts don't hurt you. What you do have to worry about is..."

"Mr. Potter, so nice of you to show up," came a cold voice from behind the nearest suit of armor. Harry's heart sank. "...him," he reluctantly finished the quote, turning away from the piercing gaze of Severus Snape. "Would you like to explain why you weren't with everyone else when they arrived, Potter?" the Potions master asked him sternly.

"Look, Professor, we had some things to take care of," Harry said as calmly as he could, "Now really, we'd like to get on with..."

"I'm afraid I can't let you off that easily, Potter, much as you'd like me to," Snape said smugly, "So, our new pupil arrives," he rounded on Derek, "Yes, the Headmaster told me you'd be here. Unfortunately, your uniform isn't on right, so that will be five points from Gryffindor."

"WHAT!?" Ron gasped indginantly, "But he's only been here two minutes! You can't take points off that quickly!"

"Can't I, Weasley!? That's five points from you for disrespect to a teacher," Snape glowered at him, "Care to try for any more?"

Fortunately, before things could get any worse, the nearest door opened up. "Oh Professor, there you are," came a more giddier voice, "Come, come, we haven't rehearsed our big entrance yet; the feast is almost over and...ah, Harry, I was wondering where you were."

"Merry Christmas, Professor Lockhart," Harry forced a grin, not sure whether he should feel grateful or doubly horrified at Lockhart's entrance. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher grabbed hold of Snape's arm and dragged him towards the door. "Go on, Severus my friend, you promised," he told him cheerfully, "I'd like a word with Harry first."

Snape let out a very audible snarl, shooting a murderous glance at Lockhart, then back and Harry and his friends, before skulking out of sight. "Harry, so nice to see you again," Lockhart stepped in front of Harry before he could sneak away, "I read in the papers how you got your family all that publicity; a bit overdone, I must say."

"No, no, it wasn't like that at all, Professor..." Harry tried to think of a way to divert the conversation from where he knew it was going. Lockhart, however, remained completely oblivious. "I know you want to be the center of attention and all that, but please, there's no need going that far and staging an altercation," he told him in a sort of condescending way, "The next time you want to make a bid for the papers, just let me know ahead of time, and I'll...and who praytell are you?"

He had finally noticed Derek was there. "Ron's cousin, he'll be here for a while," Harry mumbled, finding that this answer was getting more and more automatic.

"Wonderful indeed to meet you; Gilderoy Lockhart, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and bestseller for twenty weeks in a row now," Lockhart gave Derek's hand an overly vigorous pumping that threatened to rip it right out of its socket, "I daresay you'll love my class when you take it; we have so much fun in there. Well, best be off, Professor Snape and I agreed to make a little presentation after the meal; I'd let you know now, but it wouldn't be a surprise then, would it?"

He sauntered merrily off. "'We have so much fun in there?'" Ron mumbled mockingly once Lockhart was out of range, "I wish sometimes he could hear himself talk!"

"Oh will you come off it!?" Hermione rebuffed him, "I for one find quite a lot interesting about his classes."

"Of course you would, Hermione; you swoon all over him like every other girl in this school!"

"All right, all right, let's just go eat," Harry raised his hands before things could spiral into a free-for-all, "I don't know about you, but I am very hungry by now."

He glanced at Derek, who eagerly nodded. The four of them strolled across the hall and up the stairs towards the giant doors to the Great Hall. Inside, most of the other students were midway through their meals, which seemed to consist of everything under the sun. "Yes, you can have anything you want here," Harry told an incredulous Derek, "No one goes hungry here, I'm happy to say."

"Except for the house elves who have to make them," Hermione huffed, "Which reminds me, Derek, would you like to join the Society...?"

"Hermione, give it a break," Ron rolled his eyes in disgust, "He's got far more important things to do than follow you over cliffs with your pointless campaigns."

"Pointless campaigns!?" she glared right into his face, "Let me tell you something, Ronald Bilius Weasley, that if it weren't for the hard efforts of house elves, you wouldn't be able to enjoy...!"

"Stop, please, just stop, I'm very, very tired," Harry interrupted, fed up with the two of them already. He slid into his usual seat at the Gryffindor table, taking note that in fact an extra plate had been set up for Derek. "Oh there you are, Harry," Seamus greeted him, looking with intrigue at Derek as he eagerly bit into the roasted Cornish hen that was the main course for the day, "You missed the big announcement."

"What big announcement?"

"We're going on a field trip to the Cunninghamton Museum tomorrow!" Dean broke in excitedly, "Dumbledore's made the arrangements for all of us."

"The what museum?" Harry frowned.

"The Barnabas A. Cunninghamton Museum in London," Ron looked rather excited at the news himself, "It's only the largest and most elaborate wizarding museum in the world, Harry. We've always wanted to go there, but the rates have been too...well, circumstances kept..."

He abruptly stopped. Harry could guess quite clearly, however, that the Weasleys couldn't afford the trip to London. "What, what kind of things do they have there, Ron? That you know of, anyway?"

"Percy went with a friend; he says there's loads of stuff connected to the founders of Hogwarts, Merlin's items, several old druids who helped formed the Ministry, stuff like that," Ron explained, "Now what I hear is that the balls from the very first game of Quidditch've got a whole room to themselves, so if that's true, that's what I'm seeing first."

"But...how will we get there?" Harry was boggled by the logistics of transporting hundreds of students halfway across the country in one afternoon, "Is the train taking us down, are we getting the Knight Bus, or what?"

"I'm guessing probably the bus, or they finally let us try to Apparate," Seamus shrugged, "I guess we'll find out tomorrow. In the meantime, classes are going to only be a half hour in the morning."

"Oh no!" Hermione groaned out loud, "And I was so looking forward to giving Professor Binns a full presentation on the extended ramifications of the 1686 Goblin Act; I worked so hard during the respite on it!"

"You actually did THAT one all in one week!?" Ron stared at her with an expression bordering on pure horror, "Are you sure you're not superhuman!?"

Harry had to suppress a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure at the Slytherin table on the other end of the Hall. In contrast to the other Slytherins, who were openly boisterous and talkative, Emma sat essentially alone at the very end of the table, slowly eating dessert with a dismal expression. Harry felt a doubly large pang of sympathy for her, knowing now how terribly lonely her home life was. "Should say something," he mumbled softly to himself.

"Huh?" Derek leaned over his shoulder.

"Nothing, nothing," Harry said quickly. "So, like it here so far?"

"Oh, I wish everyone at the old school could see us now," his friend grinned excitedly, "They'd keel over from jealousy."

Harry nodded in agreement. Deep down, though, he was still rather worried how they would get away with passing Derek off as a wizard in the actual environments of Hogwarts, when there were a thousand and one ways it could all go wrong.

* * *

Initially, however, things went a lot smoother than he'd thought. The first class on the schedule the next morning was History of Magic, which even the most lacksidaisial Muggle could probably pass with no problems. It certainly proved to be no problems for Derek, who even managed to stay awake through Professor Binns's dullest lecture yet that year, something about a meeting of Chinese wizards in the 600s that Harry knew nothing about and frankly didn't see how it could help them at all. 

Next came a slightly more pressing challenge: Charms. Fortunately, Professor Flitwick's smal size made it impossible for him to see everywhere at once. Thus, all Harry had to do was wait until Flitwick was looking the other way before assisting Derek in applying the necessary charm to make the parchments before them glow different colors, a step he really didn't feel right doing, but also felt he had little other choice in making.

Then came Defense Against the Dark Arts. While Derek had initially shown some concern about looking sharp in this course, Harry had reassured him that with Lockhart at the helm, very little effort of any kind would be needed. And indeed, most of the "defense" lessons were largely Lockhart asking the class what his favorite country he'd claimed to have traveled to over the years was.

"Is that guy supposed to be a joke?" the Muggle in fact asked increduously when they walked out of the class at the end of the session, "What were we supposed to be learning from all that?"

"I myself have been asking that time and time again," Ron rolled his eyes in disgust, ignoring Hermione's glare at him, "Why Dumbledore thought he'd make a good teacher, I'll never know. Better get prepared now, though, Potions is next."

Harry gulped out loud to himself. He'd seen that Potions was going to be on the schedule, but it hadn't sunk in that they'd have to face Snape again yet. If Snape figured out their secret, it was all over and then some.

And indeed, he did have some reason to worry. Snape seemed more agitated than usual for whatever reason, breezing like a bat up and down the aisles, his eyes remaining transfixed on Derek in the front row. Also watching him closely, unfortunately, was Malfoy, who took advantage of every opportunity to fling ingredients at the boy. Finally, about halfway through the class, Derek could take it no more and raised his hand. Snape kept ignoring him, prompting him to call out, "Uh, sir, this..."

"You should know better than to interrupt me when I am crtiquing another student, young man," Snape growled softly without looking at him (as his "critiquing" had largely been insulting the dragon's blood oven cleaning solution Neville had been trying to make, Harry didn't think this was the proper phrase to use), "That will be five points from Gryffindor for insolence."

"But he's been bothering me all through the class!" Derek protested, pointing an accusing finger at Malfoy, who struck a phony angelic look. He didn't need to, for Snape ignored everything and stormed up to glance at Derek's progress in the project. "Perhaps if you took more time to put effort into this, and less time trying to complain about the actions of other students, you would have far better results," he said darkly, "That will be another five points for coming to class completely unprepared," he rounded on Harry, "And five additional points from you, Potter, for not seeing to it that he did come prepared."

Harry gripped the sides of the table hard to avoid making a scene over this. Nonetheless, he managed to keep himself calm, and apart from continuous provocative actions by Malfoy, nothing else went wrong during the rest of the session. Derek, on the other hand, was completely riled up. "Did you see how unfair all that is!?" he complained as they left the claustrophobic confines of the dungeon, "Someone should report that guy!"

"We've brought it up repeatedly, no one does anything," Ron shook his head, "Some battles you just can't win here, Derek, unfortunately. What's next?"

"Nothing for us," Hermione checked her schedule, "We'll be leaving for the trip in about an hour and a half."

"Well, I've got Quidditch practice," Harry pointed out; Wood had approached him in the commons room last night and informed him of this, "Hopefully it won't be too long of a runover. Care to join me for that?" he offered Derek, "Finally get to see what Quidditch looks like?"

"That Snapper guy won't be there?" he had to know.

"Snape, and no," Harry assured him.

"Count me in then," his expression brightened.

"Well, you two enjoy yourselves and try and be back in time; Ron and I are going to the library and practicing for the Charms exam at the end of the week," Hermione told him.

"No we're not!" Ron protested, "It's still too far off!"

"Yes, we are," she leaned very close to him, "You've made it quite clear when you accidentally turned me blue today you don't know as much as you think. So we're going to work on it, or..." she cut him off as he tried to interrupt, "You'll study with me for final exams every day from the first day of the new year until we take them."

"You wouldn't dare!" he was completely horrified at that prospect, "That's cruel and unusual punishment!"

"Then follow me, please," she gestured for him to follow her. Harry laughed deeply. "You've got to love those two together," he told Derek as they walked down the stairs towards the front of the castle, "They make such a great team."

"You must go crazy sometimes having to put up with them," Derek laughed himself.

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I do," he confessed.

A rather warm winter sun beat down on the snowy Quidditch pitch as they approached it. The other Gryffindor team members were already there and setting up. "Hello there, nice of you to come," George gave Derek another hard slap on the back, "You're going to love watching this. And don't worry, we won't let any of the bludgers take you out."

"Huh?" the boy's expression creased.

"George, come off it," Harry chided him, "The last thing he needs is to worry about that."

"But we just want him to be prepared," George defended himself, "One can never know what might go wrong in..."

"All right, can I have your attention please?" Wood was standing by an easel on which he'd set up several moving diagrams, "Now, we've only got a limited time to make this work, and needless to say we're going to need every little bit of effort we can muster if we're going to beat Slytherin later in the week, so pay attention to everything I tell you here."

Paying attention, however, was not something that could be easily done under Wood's tuteledge, and Harry was soon almost sound asleep as the lecture on the special plays Wood had devised over the break droned on and on. Once Wood finally announced, "All right, let's go up and run through these," he breathed a deep sigh of relief; his mind probably could not have taken much more. "Go on and take a seat in the stands over there," he instructed Derek, who seemed to be the only one who'd managed to stay awake, "Now comes the good part."

He kicked up off the ground and circled around high above the pitch. As the regular Quidditch balls were not available at the moment, Wood had brought along several cricket balls which he'd enchanted to act in a manner similar to the Golden Snitch. Harry thus spent most of the rest of the practice chasing these all over the pitch and managing to miss only two of them. He felt quite confident that they would top Slytherin in the actual game by a fairly handy margin.

"All right, that's good everyone," Wood's voice magically called out loud enough to be heard all over the pitch after what seemed like an eternity, "We'll get more in tomorrow night. Seven o'clock sharp, and bring your best effort."

"And your mind, your heart, your soul, and anything else you can find," Harry heard the twins mumbling to themselves as they coasted back down to earth. He strolled towards the stands as the rest of the team shuffled off. "Well, I hope that was..." he started to say, but then he noticed that a new figure had in fact joined Derek in the stands while he hadn't been paying attention. "Well, what brings you down here?" he asked.

"My schedule was open, watching anyone practice seemed like the best bet," a far happier looking Emma told him, "There's nothing like the thrill you get watching the brooms circle around, ready for action."

"She explained everything to me while you were at it," Derek told Harry, "I think I get the point of it much better now."

"So, why don't you give it a try yourself?" Emma proposed to him.

"Huh?" Derek's expression went down, "I, uh, did mention I don't like heights."

"Come on, it's just a quick fly-through," she prodded him, "You said you found it interesting; give it a try."

She gestured him towards Harry's broom. Derek hesitantly approached and slung himself over the back. "No, no, you don't need to grip it that tight," she told him gently, "And straighten up; that postures the surest way to fall off on your face. Now gently kick up. That's right. Now just twist it in the direction you want it to go."

Derek turned ever so slowly to the left. He was only about five inches off the ground. "Uh, I...is there some kind of safety device on this thing?" he asked, shifting his weight hard to the right as he started to spill over.

"Unfortunately not, Derek, you just have to be extra careful," Harry told him, "I've found that out the hard way myself. See if you can make a lap around. That's good, you're doing fine, just keep it nice and straight, and you'll get the hang of it."

He gave his friend a thumbs up as he slowly moved on the broom down the pitch, taking extra care to stay as close to the ground as possible. "Thank you for your advice," he commended Emma, "He's, uh, still got a lot to learn; this is, uh, very new to him."

"I could tell as much," she admitted, "But I think he's got the hang of it. You're doing good," she called down to Derek as he dared to go a little faster around the far end of the pitch, "He might have the makings of a good player if you train him hard enough."

"And if we can get the heights out of the equation," Harry conceded. "So, you ever try out for Quidditch here?" he asked her, "If you're into it like you say..."

"I've tried since my first year," Emma sighed, "I thought I did good in each audition, but they've passed me over each and every time. It's almost like Slytherin doesn't want a girl to take the pitch, like I'd poison their efforts being one."

"What's your natural position?"

"Chaser. Been at it since I've been seven. It's not really as exciting as the Chaser, though. Perhaps some day I could try and work on that, too."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged, "I do wish you luck, maybe someday you'll make it."

"I appreciate that, Harry," she actually cracked a smile, "It's nice to know you're not what everyone in Slytherin says you are. Which reminds me, I noticed Draco was giving your friend a hard time in Potions. If he bothers him again, I'll let someone with authority know about it."

"Good luck complaining to Snape," Harry gave her fair warning, "If it's something connected with me, he's not going to listen."

"I meant the headmaster," Emma explained, "I know the password to his office; was in there earlier in the year."

"Ah," Harry nodded. Something else was on his mind. "So, uh, what, what made you go into Slytherin anyway?" he had to know, "If you're not all that happy there..."

"It took me a while to decide," the girl told him, "I guess because I wanted to prove I was someone special, not just Amaralda Dickinson's child..."

Her expression dropped yet again. Harry put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I, uh, heard from someone who knew about it...what happened to your father," he said slowly and cautiously, "I'm sorry, really I am. He sounded like a good man. I wish you'd been able to know him better."

"So do I," her eyes were tearing up again, "I wish I could take Sorting back; having to listen to everyone in Slytherin talk about how much wizarding blood is supposed to mean, and to know my father died because You-Know-You believed that same rubbish, it's almost sickening. Like I told you, Draco in particular is a rat; I'd give anything to just slug him right in the face for spewing the hate he does. But then he'd complain to his father, he'd call my mother..."

She was too bent up to finish. Harry debated whether or not to go onwards in the conversation. His fate was solved when Dumbledore's voice echoed across the castle's grounds: "ALL STUDENTS PLEASE REPORT TO THE GREAT HALL; WE ARE LEAVING FOR THE CUNNINGHAMTON MUSEUM IN FIFTEEN MINUTES." "Well, I guess we'd better be going," he said, waving for Derek to stop as he zoomed by, "You excited to see the museum?"

"I've been there hundreds of times before," Emma in fact seemed rather bored, 'My mother's a collector of wizarding artifacts; she donates readily to the museum. Got to find some good use of her time, I suppose," there was a brief flash of a contemptuous look on her face as she said this, "Well, I guess I'll see you later, Harry."

"And thank you again for your help," he told her as she left. "She's rather nice, isn't she Harry?" Derek asked, coming up besides him, "Why didn't you meet her earlier?"

"Apparently simple twists of fate we're not meant to understand, Derek," was all Harry could think of, "Well, let's get this broom away and see what this trip holds in store for us."


	7. Chapter 7

"Have you gone completely mental!?" Ron stared at them disapprovingly outside the doors to the Great Hall.

"Well she was quite friendly about the whole thing, Ron," Derek told him.

"There's got to be some kind of ulterior motive she's using," his friend shook his head firmly, "She's up to something with you, so if I were you, I'd watch your back if she comes around again."

"Ron, don't you think you're being a hair...judgemental?" Harry told him wearily.

"Harry, you of all people should know by now you can't trust a Slytherin on anything," Ron remained adamant, "That whole sad sack business about feeling alone, she probably thought up in the five minutes it took her to get down to that pitch. I'd bet everything Malfoy put her up to it, try and weasel her way into..."

Harry found himself blocking the rest out. He felt he had enough reason to believe Emma's intentions were pure. They entered the Great Hall and took their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. Their time was just right, as it was that moment that Dumbledore stood up at the head table and gestured for all the students to quiet down. "We are about to take a trip that I hope sincerely you will find enlightening and entertaining," he proclaimed, "Now before we leave, I shall make several recommendations for your well-being. Even though you are free to visit any exhibit in the museum, and precautions have been taken for your safety (Harry noted Dumbledore was looking straight at him as he said this), I suggest you stick together and stay within earshot of your teachers at all times. And kindly do not touch the exhibits, for some of them may return the favor, if not more so. Now in a moment, your heads of house shall be coming around with handy items. They will take five of you at once to a specified location at different times. These will only go out and back once, so please only use them once, and take special care not to lose them. We will be spending three hours at the museum, so plan accordingly. And above all, enjoy yourselves."

The teachers around him rose and began spreading out to the tables. "Portkeys?" Harry guessed.

"It makes sense, really," Hermione rationalized, "That way they don't have to arrange transportation for all of us...although I suppose the Knight Bus could have handled us all."

"Potter, here you are," Professor McGonagall stepped up to him and handed him an old worn-out newspaper. Harry set it down in the middle of the table. "Five at a time. Neville," he tapped him on the shoulder, "Want to come with us?"

"Sure," Neville nodded eagerly. He grapsed the paper with his index finger. "Have you, er, ever been to this place before?" Harry asked him.

"Twice," Neville told him, looking fairly thrilled, "I think you'll like it. Well, we might as well go."

The others took hold of the paper as well. In a flash Harry found the five of them being sucked along through a void, colors flashing in front of his face. This lasted about forty seconds before they all landed with a thump on the stone of an alley somewhere in the heart of London, he could tell by the sigh of familiar skyscrapers in the distance. "You all right, Derek?" he asked, helping the Muggle up.

"That was actually quite fun, Harry," Derek for once looked pleased. Harry could guess he was now starting to adjust more to the wizarding world and enjoy it.

There came more pops from above them as a group of Ravenclaws came tumbling into the staging area. The five of them quickly bustled out onto what appeared to be Downing Street. Muggles jostled in each direction, apparently paying no attention to them. "Now which way?" Harry had to ask.

"To the right, I think; yes, that way," Neville pointed. Sure enough, Harry noted a pack of Hufflepuffs (fortunately even having switched to conventional Muggle clothing, they'd kept their distinctive yellow and black color scheme) heading up the block. "OK, you lead and we'll follow," he conceded to Neville and fell in behind him. He raised the newspaper to scan the headlines--and was amazed to see in moderately large print in the right column the words SEARCH CONTINUES FOR MISSING LITTLE WHINGLING BOY it read. Intrigued, he opened up the paper entirely and read the article:

_Officials in Little Whingling are asking for help concerning the whereabouts of a boy who has not been seen since the late summer. The aunt and uncle of Harry James Potter, 4 Privet Drive, were taken into custody two days ago following an altercation at their residence, which led officials to learn that neighbors had not reported seeing their nephew for months. A staff member at Our Lady of the Useless Miracle Mental Hospital in Suffolk, where Mr. and Mrs. Dursley are presently incarcerated pending the results of mental health examinations, has informed this paper under the condition of anonymity that the Dursleys have been denying to their psychiatrists that their nephew even exists. "It's all very strange, really," he told us, "I don't know why they would say that unless they've got something major to hide."_

_Little Whingling Chief Constable I. L. Ketcham has stated that there is no sign of any foul play at the Dursleys' residence, but requests anyone who knows anything about Potter's whereabouts contact him or national police immediately. "If Mr. and Mrs. Dursley did in fact murder him--and we are examining every possibility in this investigation--they appear to have done a thorough job, for we've got no evidence to work with at the moment," he was quoted as saying this morning, "However, I must reiterate we have no concrete idea of what happened to Harry Potter at this point in time. Perhaps the boy simply ran away, and as such we are searching adjacent towns and asking if anyone there saw anyone fitting his description."_

_Neighbors of the Dursleys say that they rarely said anything about Potter, whom social services have discovered was left in their care following his parents' death in a gas main explosion when he was one. "Seemed to me they were embarassed of him for some reason," said one resident of Privet Drive who also requested to remain anonymous, "I wouldn't be surprised if they did do something terrible to him; nasty people, really they were."_

_In a story that may or may not be related, another young man in the village has been reported missing as well. Derek Alexander Whitesell, who coincidentally is the same age as Potter, has not been seen for two days. Whitesell has no fixed address and no immediate family, and--_

"What's that you're reading, Harry?" Ron leaned over his shoulder. He burst into a chuckle as he read the article. "Well, looks like we opened a whole can of worms there," he remarked.

Harry, though, seemed more muted. "So that's what the Muggles think happened to them," he mused softly, "A gas main explosion. I suppose that would make..."

"Never mind that!" Hermione sounded rather surprised herself, "Look at this, all of you!" She walked briskly towards a fire hydrant that, before Harry's amazed eyes, morphed into a wooden news bin as she approached. She stuck a sickle into the slot, pulled out the copy of the Daily Prophet on top, and held it up for the others to read. Harry's eyes went wide as he took in the text underneath the headline ARREST MADE IN RUNE VAULT BREAK-IN:

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has announced it has brought into custody a suspect in last night's terrible break-in at the Rune Depository in Liverpool, and that he has confessed to the crime. Amos Diggory of Ottery-St. Catchpole has admitted to storming into the depository, murdering four people on night watch duty, and stealing thirteen high security runes from one of the vaults._

_"It's pretty much an airtight case at this point," head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour confidently told the Prophet, "We have witnesses placing Mr. Diggory at the scene, and his confession pretty much seals it. He still hasn't told us where he stashed the runes, but we'll probably get it out of him in a day or two." _

_Ministry officials would not go into detail about the stolen runes, but said they were confident little danger could come from them if used. They also stated that another break-in in the Department of Mysteries earlier in the week is in all likelihood not related to Mr. Diggory's crime. Again, they refused to say if anything was stolen but reassured the public that no danger is imminent. _

"Wait a minute," Harry's eyebrows shot way up at the astonishing photo of a blank-faced Amos Diggory being escorted out of a low stone building flanked by Dementors, "This can't be right at all. Not Mr. Diggory. He wouldn't kill anyone."

"So you know him?" Derek inquired. Harry related to him exactly how he knew Mr. Diggory. "There has to be more to it than this," he finished, "Someone must have set him up. But at least it was just runes."

"Oh I wouldn't be too sure, Harry," Hermione seemed far more disturbed by this development, "I've done a lot of reading about runes, and some of them can do pretty nasty things if they've been imbibed with Dark Magic. If the Death Eaters are up to something like the Order suspects, this could be part of..."

"Well...?" came Snape's unpleasant voice from behind them. The Potions master had come up behind them while they were preoccupied and was glaring at the five of them, "Are you going to bother going to the museum, or should we just leave you here all day wasting your time and the teachers' time!?"

"Take it easy, we...!" Ron started to snap, but after a sharp elbow from Harry, well aware that Snape was probably trying to bate them, he took a deep breath and said more calmly, "I mean, Professor, we were just finishing up now, that's all."

Snape cast a wary glance at the Prophet's heading. "I'm sure you were," he muttered softly, "This way, then."

He jerked a finger up Downing Street. Several passing Slytherins snickered at them for being chewed out by their head of house. Harry did his best to ignore them. His mind was racing now. Clearly Mr. Diggory had been put under the Imperius Curse, he reasoned, and the Death Eaters had altered other memories as well to make him the Ministry's scapegoat. But what were the Death Eaters trying to accomplish through all this? And what if the Ministry break-in the article had mentioned was in fact related? Knowing some of the things that were inside the Department of Mysteries, whatever was on Voldemort's to-do list this Christmas wasn't too pretty.

"Here we are," Neville proclaimed out loud. Harry looked up to see the Ravenclaws that had come in behind him going through the door of a derelict old store with the faded words BARRY'S on the awning. To the average Muggle eye, it no doubt looked like nothing more than a small family store that had long since been out of business; indeed, they all passed by without a sustained glance at it. Something else--or rather someone else--also caught Harry's attention--their Order-assigned protector was sitting on a bench across from the store, and it was the last person Harry would have trusted with guarding Hogwarts students on a field trip. "Oh no, anyone but Mundungus!" he moaned softly.

"So he's not someone we can trust?" Derek's expression crinkled, apparently able to guess Fletcher's lot in life from a compulsory glance.

"Let me put it this way; let's just hope something major doesn't go wrong while we're here," Harry told him. He took hold of the doorknob and yanked it, but it wouldn't budge. "Um, Neville?" he stepped aside for his classmate again. Neville calmly tapped the knob with his wand, and the door creaked open. Not surprisingly, Harry saw the moment he was over the thresh-hold that "Barry's" was a whole lot bigger on the inside; at least six stories tall at first glance. Witches and wizards walked everywhere, often in large groups, towards various galleries and alcoves. A disembodied magical voice was at that moment announcing that a special live exhibit of the bones of a dragon that had belonged to some Hungarian warlock whose name he had no hope of pronouncing would be held on the third level in 20 minutes. "So this is the Cunninghamton museum?" he asked out loud, impressed, "Well, which way do we go from here?"

"It looks like something's going on over there," Derek pointed to the left. A large knot of witches and wizards were gathered around a large display case in the middle of one of the galleries, and flashbulbs appeared to be going off around the display. The five of them bustled over and tried to push through the fringes of the crowd. "Amazing," Harry whispered, noticing a fabulous gold and purple crown covered in every colored jewel imaginable sitting on a felt cushion inside the case.

"It was given to us on loan from Amaralda Dickinson for the next month," the apparent curator of the exhibit, right to the side of Harry, exclaimed without turning to face him (much as Harry would have preferred it; with cameras around, he didn't want to be the focus of attention yet again). "First time it's been seen by the public in close to a hundred years," the man went on proudly, "We should be excited we got something like this."

He exhaled deeply and walked away with the dispersing crowd, allowing the students to get closer to the display case. "It's the Scone Crown," Hermione proclaimed with her own sense of pride to be able to relate it, "I read about this in _Stately Relics of the Northlands_. It's no wonder they'd get all excited; this crown was supposedly forged by elves using some of the most precious gold in the world, and it's supposed to have special magical properties. It's been in the Dickinson family for close to twelve hundred years now. They'll probably promote it like crazy that they have it."

"Indeed we shall," Harry's heart plunged to hear Rita's voice on the other side of the case. The reporter appeared like a wraith before anyone could move and swooped down on Derek. "And speaking of stories, you never did give me your own, young man," she told him.

"I told you, he has no story to tell you!" Harry bellowed at her, "Now would you just...!"

"Harry, maybe I better just tell her something," Derek tugged his shoulder, "If it'll make..."

"And what seems to be going on over here? Harry, is that the press?" Harry's heart sank even further, if such a thing could be possible, and Lockhart came galloping into the chamber, beaming from ear to ear. "My dear Rita, so good to see you again!" he gave her arm a vigorous pumping, "Interviewing Harry?"

"Absolutely...!" Harry started to protest, but Lockhart clapped his hands before he could finish saying no and exclaimed, "Excellent! Now, where shall we begin at?"

"But Professor...!"

Lockhart took him aside and whispered softly, "Trust me Harry, it's no problem at all for me to help you here, but next time, do tell me ahead of time if you want to do interviews; I can give you so much advance advice." Ignoring Harry's frustrated growl, He turned to Rita, flexed some muscles and confidently stated, "Fire away."

"Well, Gilderoy, it's come to my attention this young man here," Rita gestured slyly at Derek, "Is new to Hogwarts this year. What can you tell me about him?"

"Oh a fine student he is indeed," Lockhart gaily slapped his hand down on Derek's head as if it were a game show buzzer, "Harry suggested I take him under my wing, and so I have; for example, just the other day, I helped him master this fine spell that I once used to destroy the Great Brazzaville lethifold once and for all. Observe," he drew his wand, pointed it at the far end of the gallery, and proclaimed, "_Ioredilg!!"_

A blast of blue light shot from the wand, but the spell--if it was indeed a legitimate one--abruptly ricocheted off a force field of some kind surrounding the Scone Crown's case and rebounded towards Neville. The impact sent him flipping backwards in perfect cartwheels, during which his Rememberall fell out of his pocket and rolled towards a staircase in the corner. Sighing, Harry took off after it. He rushed down the stairs after the Rememberall, which seemed to get bright as the surrounding light got dimmer--and move somewhat faster as it hit the bottom and rolled up the hallway. "_Lumos_," Harry breathed to shed more light in the darkened corridor. Finally he dove forward and grabbed a hold of the ball. Sighing in relief, he looked up...and felt a bit of a cold chill run down his spine. There was something not quite right about the room he was in at the moment, and the placard in front of him reading CAUTION: ENTER THIS ROOM AT YOUR OWN RISK. FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY did nothing to dispel his feeling.

All around him were artifacts that would have been right at home in Borgin and Burke's. Shrunken heads, a stuffed giant acromantula with its pincers outstretched towards him, and what looked like horribly cursed remains of witches and wizards were just a few of the terrible items inside the dimly-lit room. "What is this place?" he breathed softly.

There came the thumping of footsteps up the hall behind him. "Harry, did you happen to find...?" Derek started to say, but his voice trailed off as he too took in what Harry had seen. "What is this place?" he parroted him unintentionally.

"It must be the Dark Arts collection room," Hermione seemed a bit uneasy herself. Her gaze wandered over several several sharp bloody knives and several other Dark objects that seemed right out of Knockturn Alley, "From what I've read, they use it only to remind others of the evils that wizards have inflicted in the past. Like this," she gestured with disgust at a rusted golden medallion with a Medusa head on it, "This was used by Herpo the Foul to curse Muggles; he claimed over thirty lives with it."

"Morgan le Fay's," Ron eyed a cracked ruby ring, "This was what she used to seal up Merlin forever. Can we go now, Harry, I really don't like it down here."

But Harry wasn't paying attention anymore. He walked with very slow steps over to a small exhibit in the corner, barely illuminated by the torch light. Lying on a worn out pillow was a blackened wand, eleven inches long and made of mahogany. Next to it lay a small card inscribed, THE WAND OF JAMES POTTER, RECOVERED FROM HIS RESIDENCE AT GODRIC'S HALLOW FOLLOWING HIS DEATH AT THE HANDS OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED. Harry's hand gripped the railing hard. All those years he'd be hoping to find something of his parents, but not this way. His mind raced back to that fateful night so long ago, and how horrible it must have been for his father, standing there in the living room facing down Voldemort and knowing there was probably no chance of him coming out in one piece. And that this scorched piece of wood was all that was left...

"Harry, are you all...oh my," Hermione had apparently noticed the inscription as well, "Oh Harry, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was in here either."

"I think it fits in quite well here, actually, Granger," came the drawling voice from behind them. Harry's blood pressure went way up. "How dare you even say that, Malfoy!" he couldn't control himself as he spun around, "Do you even care what this wand symbolizes!?"

"Justice, Potter," Malfoy was utterly nonplussed. He strolled casually around the room as if he owned it. "I don't know why they insist on keeping all these down here where no one can see them," he said in his usual lazy drawl, smiling at several shrunken heads, "Some of the wizards represented here were much better than the Ministry cares to make them out to be. Like Strasselheim the Unjust," he stopped by the horribly managled skeleton of a wizard whose head had been inflated beyond normal proportions and disfigured, "They never appreciated his efforts to clear out those who weren't purebloods in the Alps in the 1400s. But they never realized they couldn't destroy his vision. That there'll always be someone willing to do the job for him," he advanced towards Derek, "Always someone ready to throw out those that don't belong."

"I'm not afraid of you," Derek told him defiantly.

"You heard him, Malfoy, you're wasting your time trying to get at him," Ron strode forward, his hands on his hips, "So just get out of here before..."

"Before what, Weasley? Before you try something against the rules, like, say, THIS!?" Malfoy abruptly fired a blast from his wand that sent Derek flying backwards towards the wall--only he bounced like a ball when hitting it and continued bouncing against the floor, his body inflating int oa round shape. Roaring with laughter, Malfoy rushed over and started dribbling him. Enraged, Harry leaped forward and aimed his wand at his nemesis. "Turn him back to normal RIGHT NOW, Malfoy!!" he demanded.

"You know what Potter, you're no fun at all," Malfoy lazily lifted a now very circular Derek up and bounced him hard off Harry's face, knocking his glasses to the floor, "Maybe I can teach you to have some fun with..."

"Leave him alone, Draco," came a familiar stern voice from the doorway. Harry was amazed to be hearing it, even knowing what he believed he knew. He scrambled for his glasses to confirm it. Sure enough, there was Emma, her hands on her hips, flashing Malfoy a murderous look. Malfoy, in contrast, was stunned beyond belief. "What did you say to me?" he managed to say once he'd gotten over the shock of being told to stop by another Slytherin.

"I said said leave him alone," Emma repeated, marching forward, "And turn him back to normal like Harry told you to."

Malfoy sputtered indignantly. "Just who do you think you are telling me to be nice to Potter's pets!?" he demanded, his arrogant nature rapidly returning.

"I said do it, now," she raised her wand, "Or I'll tell Professor Snape everything."

"And you really think he'd care!?" Malfoy snapped back, "I don't know what's the matter with you, but let me be clear: what I'm doing here is none of your business, so why don't you just get lost before YOU end up being sorry!?"

"No," she said firmly, coming to a stop two inches in front of him, "You have ten seconds, Draco, or..."

Just then there came a zapping sound from the hall outside that made everyone turn. Two apparent museum guards slowly entered the room. "Thank you, gentlemen," Ron waved to them, "Malfoy here's been causing a...hello there?"

Harry had recognized it too: their expressions were perfectly blank--a sure sign of the Imperious Curse. "DOWN!!" he screamed, diving on top of the still round Derek as a pair of green flashes arced right towards him...


	8. Chapter 8

...shattering a display case housing an old weathered book of some kind. The guards picked it up and started carrying it out of the room. Harry leaped to his feet. "_Impedimenta!"_he roared, aiming his wand at the guards. They were quickly reduced to slow motion. He rushed forward to grab the book off them...only to have Malfoy grab his feet and trip him. "What are you doing!?" he demanded to his foe.

"You're not stopping this, Potter," Malfoy told him roughly, "You can't..."

An abrupt fist to his face silenced him. "Always wanted to do that," Ron said, clutching his wrist with a grimaced expression, "Now what?"

"_Help me_!" came Derek's voice from the wall, still inflated beyond belief. "Get Derek back to normal, you two," he instructed them, "I'm stopping this robbery."

"Um," Ron glanced at their friend with a confused look, "I'm not really sure..."

"It's simple, really," Emma spoke up. She crawled over to Derek, wand in hand, "_Reducio."_

The boy was immediately shrunk back to normal. "Thanks," Harry leaped back up with looking back, "Derek, stay down here where it's safe. One of you keep an eye on him, the other call for help."

He was rushing for the door before anyone could offer any advice. Rounding the corner, he jumped for the still slow-moving guards and grabbed the book...

...and froze up. Directly in front of him, pouring out of an iron maiden against the wall, was about two dozen masked Death Eaters. "It's Potter!" exclaimed a hunched-over one whose voice Harry didn't quite recognize, "And he's got it!"

"Hand it over, Potter," it was Lucius Malfoy's voice that emerged from under the mask of the Death Eater that stepped menacingly towards him. Harry took a number of quick steps back. "You want it?" he told them as bravely as he could, trying to think of the most rational way to handle the rapidly deteriorating situation, "Come and get it!"

He broke into a mad rush for the stairs; he certainly didn't want to risk going back into the Dark Arts room and exposing Derek to them. "Get him!" Lucius's voice roared, "You all, after him, the rest of you, finish the rest of the mission!"

Dozens of Dark spells zinged around Harry's head. He flung himself low and zigzagged about as best he could. The staircase railing was blasted off its hinges right next to him as he hastily barrelled around the corner and up to the main floor. "Run!" he shouted at the knots of wizards nearby, "Run for your lives! There's Death Eaters downstairs!"

Most of them stared at him in confusion. Confusion that quickly turned to horror as dark curses rocketed into the gallery. Witches and wizards scattered in every direction, forcing Harry to weave his way through them as he looked around desperately for someone to turn to or a safe place to go. As the Death Eaters were between him and the door, he rushed back into another gallery with a large dragon skeleton overhead and a long scroll along the wall. Only to plow right into another warlock trying to run, sending the both of them toppling to the floor. He rolled over and tried to get up, but a Death Eater was right on top of him. He aimed his wand right for Harry's face....

Only to be sent flying into the wall by a spell from behind. Harry looked up to see who had saved him, but saw only an arm with a wand withdrawing out of sight. Before he could do anything else, he was sharply pulled to the side under a display table. "Take your hands off...!" he demanded.

"No need to get upset, Harry," it was the twins, who seemed to be enjoying the moment for whatever reason. "The book!" Harry remembered it was still on the floor, and a pair of Death Eaters were know hustling towards it.

"No problem, Harry," Fred seemed quite confident, "George and me have worked a new spell that'll come in handy for a time like this."

"Absolutely," George bravely jumped out from under the table with his brother. They aimed their wands at the villains and shouted something that sounded to Harry like "_Beptopisto!"_Whatever the spell was, however, it had its effect; the Death Eaters were hit with pink blasts of light, and immediately started grimacing and hopping up and down in discomfort before rushing for the lavatory nearby. "That'll keep them occupied for a while," Fred was grinning from ear to ear.

"You've got to teach me that one some day," Harry scooted out of hiding and picked up the book. "That should come in..."

Suddenly yet another Death Eater tackled him from behind. "The book, Potter, now!" he threatened.

"Let go of me!" Harry pressed back against the man, trying to keep him at bay. As such, his hands went against the man's mask and managed to push it off. Harry froze up; it was Willy Widdershins, the lowlife who'd given him so much trouble with Dumbledore's Army. Widdershins froze as well after being unmasked, which gave the twins enough time to use their spell on him as well. Discomforted, Widdershins released Harry and joined his associates in the lavatory. "Thanks again," Harry told the two of them. He ran to the corner and looked the book over carefully. The cover had something written on it in a strange language. "What do you suppose this is?" he mused, not daring to open it, knowing how dangerous some wizarding books could be.

"Who knows?" George shrugged, "Maybe if we held onto it, Dad could..."

More dark blasts slammed into the wall inches from them. "Why are we just sitting around here!?" Harry realized a little too late. The twins raised their wands to give the incantation again, but they and then Harry were hit with the full body bind. "Got you, Potter!" a trio of Death Eaters was advancing towards them now, and Harry thought the leader of this group sounded much like Antonin Dolohov, "We've got what's ours now," he picked up the book, "And the Dark Lord will reward us beyond our wildest dreams for bringing you to...!"

"_EXPELLIARMUS!!"_came the shout behind them. Dolohov's wand flew out of his hands. Immediately Harry felt the curse slacken. "_Expelliarmus_!" he fired his own spell at the other two Death Eaters, who rushed to retrieve their wayward wands. Roaring, Dolohov lunged towards him, raising the book over his head like a lethal weapon. "Accio book!" came the incantation behind him again. The spell book flew away from the Death Eater right into Emma's hands. She had a determined, furious look on her face. "Give that to me, girl!" Dolohov threatened, advancing menacingly towards her, "You know you are no threat to me!"

"Am I!? _Levicorpus_!!" Emma fired at hired, sending Dolohov flying up in the air by his ankle. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!!" she aimed her wand at a heavy cauldron on a shelf nearby, maneuvered it into position over Dolohov, and released it, sending it down hard on his head. "_Levicorpus!!"_she repeated the first incantation on the other two Death Eaters, leaving them suspended in the air as well. Released from the curse as well, the twins repeated their own spell on these two, who were soon frantically swimming through the air trying to get to the lavatory themselves. "What do they teach you in Slytherin to know all that?" George asked her, admittedly impressed.

"I've wanted to do that to a Death Eater for a good long while. What is this?" she picked up the book as well. Oh my," she exclaimed at the sight of it, "Harry, you've got to get this to Dumbledore or the curator as soon as..."

But Harry saw a more pressing matter for the moment, however: the hunched over Death Eater who'd first recognized him down in the basement had pushed open the front door to the museum, and with an insane yell started firing indiscriminately at Muggles all up and down Downing Street. Harry rushed him from behind. "_Expelliarmus_!" he bellowed, blasting the man down the steps. He rushed for the Death Eater's wand, but his foe grabbed it at the same time. "_Crucio_!" the man yelled, trying to turn the business end of the wand in Harry's direction. Harry pushed it the other way at the last second so the curse fired into the awning instead, setting it on fire. "_Avada kedavra_!!" the man screamed trying to turn the wand towards Harry's chest. Harry pushed upwards with all his might, and the green blast deflected upwards. Harry's heart froze again, though, to hear a loud cracking sound. He just had enough time to look up to see huge chunks of concrete falling towards him before it crashed down on top of him and all went black.

* * *

Someone was softly calling his name when he came to. Slowly a blurry image came into focus. "Oh Harry!" Hermione threw her arms around him, "We were so worried...!"

"How long have I been out?" he glanced around, "Where am I now?"

"We put you in the museum's back office," it was Madam Pomfrey standing behind Hermione, shaking her head disapprovingly, "You're lucky I was on standby for this field trip, Potter; Professor Dumbledore had to come back to Hogwarts to fetch me to make some emergency treatments on you."

"Am I going to be all right?" Harry shifted his limbs around, feeling perfectly fine, in fact.

"She did heal everything from what I could see," Ron was behind the nurse and their friend, looking deeply relieved, "You had a number of broken bones and some bleeding inside. Don't ever scare us like that again, Harry; even if you're going to stop the Death Eaters from..."

Harry's mind snapped back to the last moments before he'd been knocked out. He glanced around the office wildly. "Did they get that book!?" he asked everyone breathlessly, remembering Emma's uncomfortable reaction to seeing it.

"No," it was Emma herself who stuck her head in the door, also looking relieved, "The one you were trying to stop grabbed Andric Vydzaal's spellbook before he and the others Disapparated. But it's..."

"How long have you been back there!?" Ron glared at her disapprovingly, "Funny how you seemed to be out and about it the middle of this whole thing without...Harry, where are you going now!?"

Harry had heard what sounded like loud shouting from outside in the museum, plus some wailing. He hastily got up, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's cry of, "Potter, you're not ready yet to move about like that!" and bustled into the hallway. An equally worried Derek was standing by the entrance to the gallery. "Harry, good you're back to normal," he greeted him with his own relief, "Having half the building fall on you looked pretty fatal."

"Never mind that now, Derek; what else happened while I was out?" Harry asked him breathlessly.

"Well, it looks like those Dead Dogs or whatever their names are took that big crown and then kidnapped some kids about our age, even some younger," his Muggle friend told him, "Ron and Hermione told me to stay put till it was over, and so...where are you going now?"

Harry had to see exactly what had happened. It would be just like Voldemort to resort to snatching children from their parents. What, though was the significance of the Scone Crown to his sworn enemy? And what did Andric Vydzaal have to do with it as well? He'd never heard of that name before (although he was sure Hermione had to have read it somewhere).

The atmosphere in the main lobby was pure chaos. Aurors and Obliviators were bustling this way and that, some taking notes from witnesses, others trying to comfort numerous hysterical parents. Harry overheard of a few of them saying, "...informed the Muggle Prime Minister to tell the Muggles it was a sniper here that caused all this, whatever a sniper's supposed to be, although I'm not sure if the damage would support that." There was a large wail of grief in the very center of the room, where a rather large woman was sobbing into Cornelius Fudge's shoulder. "He's only ten!" Harry heard her say, "Why would they want him!?"

"Don't worry Mrs. Plumstead, we will be working with all our resources to bring your son and everyone else who was taken home," Fudge assured her, "I wouldn't completely panic just yet; there's no telling if these people were actually Death Eaters, or just imposters trying to scare all of us with memories of You Know Who."

There came a popping sound. "Ah, Amaralda, you got my message," the Minister of Magic greeted Emma's mother.

"And this had better be important, Cornelius, because I'm a very busy woman," she looked quite disgruntled as she strode towards him, "Now what did you pull me out of work for!?"

"Some people dressed like Death Eaters came in here and stole the Scone Crown, I'm afraid, Mrs. Dickinson," Rufus Scrimgeour himself was present, stepping forward out of a knot of Ministry officials near Fudge, including, Harry could make out, Umbridge and Percy. Mrs. Dickinson's face contorted with disgust. "That has been in my family for centuries!" she berated both the Minister and the curator, standing nearby looking pale that such a theft had happened on his watch, "I consider it my most prized possession! If I don't get it back...!"

"We will get it back, Amaralda; the Ministry will go the extra mile for someone of your prestige," Fudge assured her sycophantically.

"But keep in mind it wasn't really the Ministry's fault," Umbridge stepped forward, taking a notepad away from Scrimgeour, "More than a few witnesses say that Harry Potter started a riot just before the thieves entered the building..."

A hot flash of anger surged through Harry's veins. "Excuse me!" he stormed forward, "Where do you come off saying that!?"

"Read for yourself, Potter; no fewer than nine people claim you incited a riot," Umbridge was smiling darkly as she shoved the notepad in his face, "And that you seemed to be leading these so-called Death Eaters around the museum..."

"They were trying to get the book off me!" he shouted back at her, "And if you're insinuating that I was the leader of the Death Eaters...!"

"IF they were Death Eaters," Scrimgeour cut him off, "We've no proof they were actually followers of He Who Must Not Be Named. After all, there have been copycats over the years."

"And besides, Potter," Umbridge glared him down, "There's no proof you WEREN'T leading them all either. After all, like you said, you were leading them around anyway if they were after you; thus, you were conscientiously endangering everyone in this museum whether you're willing to admit it or not. Which certainly is a likely possibility, am I right Amaralda?" she glanced at Mrs. Dickinson for a reason Harry couldn't comprehend, making Mrs. Dickinson nod firmly.

"That's a lie!" came Emma's voice again. Having apparently been listening in on the whole conversation herself, she stormed right up to Umbridge. "Harry did everything he could to protect the safety of everyone in here today!" she shouted in Umbridge's face, "And those were real Death Eaters, so don't skirt the issue! I don't believe half the things you say in...!"

"Don't you interrupt us, young lady!" her mother barked at her, "You have no idea what's going on here at all!"

"I was here, Mum; I saw everything that happened!" she protested, "You're going to believe these people when you know they've been covering things up in the Prophet and are going to do the same with this!?"

"We do no such thing, miss," Fudge glowered at her. "I'm surprised at you, Amaralda, allowing such a fine young woman to fall into such dissembling," he shook his head disapprovingly at Mrs. Dickinson."

"She's not lying, Minister," Harry said firmly, "And for your information, I know some of the people involved in this break-in: Antonin Dolohov..."

"He's safely back in Azkaban right now; has been for close to six months now," Scrimgeour glared at him.

"Willy Widdershins..." Harry looked around for any sign of Dumbledore to back him up, but grimly only Rita Skeeter was nearby, listening in on the conversation, which couldn't bode well at all.

"...who has never once been accused of being a Death Eater, which immediately sinks your theory that it was them, Potter," Umbridge sneered at him.

"..and the leader, Minister, whether you care to believe it or not, was Lucius Malfoy!" Harry shouted at Fudge.

"That's absolutely impossible," Mrs. Dickinson scoffed, "I've known Lucius Malfoy for twenty-seven years; he is no more a Death Eater than I am."

"I know, Amaralda; the truth is, Potter has always had a vendetta against Lucius for some unfounded reason," Fudge glared at Harry.

"I swear to you, Minister, Lucius Malfoy was the leader of the Death...!"

"Did somebody say my name?" came Lucius's voice at that very moment. Now outside his Death Eater robes, he came striding up to the knot, false concern on his face. "I had heard about the fracas here, Minister," he told Fudge with a wry smile, "Is anything amiss?"

"No, Lucius, nothing really worth mentioning, except Potter here thinks you were in charge of the break in that took place earlier," Fudge pointed with more than a little contempt at Harry.

"How interesting," Lucius feigned surprise, "Well, I was at a Hogwarts board of directors meeting all that time; all of them could vouch for me being there, if that would settle this issue."

"After you altered their memories of course!" Emma was indignant, "I never trusted you, Mr. Malfoy; even back when my father...!"

"Be quiet, young lady!" her mother barked at her, "May I remind you Mr. Malfoy helped us out after your father died, and that in fact he did what he could to ensure his safety before his death (Harry was quite sure Mr. Malfoy had done just that, only not the way Mrs. Dickinson was proposing)! He would never do anything of the sort that happened here today!"

"Of course not, Amaralda," Lucius told her warmly, "It's Potter we really have to be concerned about. After all," he turned to Fudge with a smug smile, "How do we know HE didn't cause all this in the first place? Let's see here," he leaned over to Scrimgeour and looked at the notes the head Auror's magic pen was writing on the parchment for his report, "Funny that the intruders only showed themselves after Potter ran screaming out of the basement, I'd say."

"Because it was just going to be a simple smash and grab, wasn't it Mr. Malfoy!?" Harry was indignant himself, "Ask the guards downstairs!" he begged Scrimgeour, "They were under the Imperious Curse, but maybe they could tell you something at least! You can't just take what this man says at face...!"

"The matter is closed, Potter," Scrimgeour waved him off, "We have our official report, and we will follow up on it as we need to--WITHOUT any interference from you."

"Oh I see, so it's basically all about making the wizarding world think you're actually doing something, smiling for the press instead of stopping the Death Eaters from doing whatever they...!"

"You can't stop the forces of darkness," Mrs. Dickinson spoke up bluntly, "There was a time I thought you could, but I've found I was wrong. Evil will always keep coming back no matter what you try. Better to just let whatever happens happen."

"But your husband believed..."

"TIBERIUS WAS A FOOL!!!" she roared in his face at the top of her lungs, "If he'd realized trying to fight evil was pointless, he'd still be here today! I couldn't talk sense into him, so I wash my hands of him!"

"I think what he did was brave!" Emma spoke up, looking crushed and outraged at the same time, "I'd be willing to do the same any time!"

"Then go ahead and do it, but don't come crawling back to me!" her mother warned her, "If I were you I'd just forget trying anything; we're purebloods, and thus the Dark Lord has no reason to come after us unless he is provoked. Now if all of you will excuse me, I must get back to work this minute, and I expect my crown to be found in no time flat, Cornelius."

"Oh yes, your stupid, precious crown! God forbid anything happen to that!" this had apparently touched a nerve with her daughter, "You care more about that than me most of the time anyway! I hope Lord Voldemort smashes it into a million pieces!"

There were countless horrified gasps all around at the mention of the dark wizard's name. Even Mrs. Dickinson herself jumped in shock. "I've heard enough here," she recovered rather quickly, though, "I have to get back to work right now, and..."

"Are you sure you need to, Amaralda?" finally Dumbledore had made an appearance, although with Snape right behind him, "I would think given the circumstances here, you'd want to stay a little longer to make sure of a few things."

Harry noticed he was looking right at Emma as he said this. "No, Dumbledore, my time here is done," Mrs. Dickinson told him firmly and with just a little bit of anger at the headmaster, "All I want from you is to make sure to keep Potter away from my daughter before he plants more dangerous ideas in her mind, and if you screw it up like you screwed up last time, I will see to it that it costs you dearly."

She Disapparated before she could say anything else. "I see," was all Dumbledore could manage, shaking his head sadly. "Well, Harry, Ms. Dickinson," he turned to the two of them, "Given the circumstances of this afternoon, I have decided we are to return to Hogwarts this moment, so if the two of you will return to the groups you came in, we can get back to the castle before any ills befall you."

"I will expect you to uphold Amaralda's dictum, Dumbledore," Fudge frowned at him, "I don't want to hear any more stories of Potter corrupting her daughter here, or I'll have to order something against the school."

"Well, the strange thing you'll find, Cornelius, is that sometimes if someone is kind enough to someone else, there is very little that can be built between those persons that they can't tear down," Dumbledore said cryptically, but with a twinkle in his eye.

"Most of the time," Snape seemed more melancholy and bitter (not that that was surprising to Harry, given that that was the Potions master's default mood most of the time). This way, Ms. Dickinson."

He jerked a finger towards a knot of Slytherins by the front register. Emma trudged after him and Dumbledore, turning briefly back towards Harry. "_Thank you for everything,"_he whispered towards her, not wanting her to go back to the castle thinking her efforts had all been for nothing. He turned to head back to the corner himself, but Fudge's gruff hand came down on his shoulder. "Potter," the Minister warned him, "I will tolerate no more of what happened here today. Stay away from Amaralda Dickinson's daughter and don't cause anything else like this again."

"What's the matter, Minister, afraid of losing all of Mrs. Dickinson's gold!?" Harry glared back at him, "I probably wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for Emma, Minister. And everything she told you about what happened was true. But of course why should she be believed if she's underage, am I right!? This was a Death Eater attack, whether you choose to accept it or not, and if something goes wrong and Voldemort..."

"DON'T SAY THE NAME!!!" Fudge all but screamed at him, "You are on very thin ice already, Potter, and the Ministry will take punitive action if you carry this any further! Now good day!!!"

He waved at his entourage, who tromped after him towards the back of the building, Lucius Malfoy included, smiling smugly at his successful deception. "Percy," Harry waved at Ron's brother at the rear, hoping he of anyone would care enough to hear him out, "You've got to believe me on..."

"The Minister's right, Harry," Percy shook his head firmly, "There's no proof these were actual Death Eaters, and you did lead them right up here to steal the Scone Crown. Think about that the next time you and Ron want to have fun at our expense. Good day."

He turned away from Harry as he followed the other Ministry officials away. Harry growled in frustration. Yet in the pit of his stomach he realized that they did have a point; in his haste to get the book away from the Death Eaters, he HAD led them right upstairs. Perhaps if he'd stayed down in the basement and tried to lose them there, all those children wouldn't have been taken...

"Harry, you all right there?" came Ron's voice in his ear. He'd been subconsciously walking back the way he'd come, where his friends, now joined by Neville again, had been watching.

"Oh, um, sure, of course," he lied, "I, uh, guess you heard we're going back to school now?"

"Well, it was good here while it lasted," Derek was at least taking the early end of the field trip well, "We couldn't catch everything they were saying to you, Harry; what seems to be the problem with those people?"

Harry laid it all out for him. "We've got to prove Lucius Malfoy was behind this beyond any reasonable doubt for them to believe us," he concluded, "Further, we've got to figure out who Andric Vydzaal is. I suppose you have read about him somewhere?" he turned to Hermione.

"I know I have, but I can't remember where offhand," she admitted, "I'm sure the library has something on him we can check."

"We'll do that first thing once we're back at Hogwarts," Harry pulled out the newspaper Portkey, "Ready?"

"Ready," Neville said firmly as he joined the others in touching it. Again the colorful spirals began as they were pulled through space, landing with a soft thump on some grassy ground...

_Grassy!? _Harry looked around. Something definitely wasn't right. "How'd we end up in the Forbidden Forest?" he inquired, concerned, "Is this Portkey defective?"

"It doesn't work that way, Harry," Hermione looked worried herself, "I think this was tampered with in..."

Suddenly, there came bright blasts from the bushes, and for the second time in a few hours, Harry found himself under a full body bind curse. And worse, so was everyone else, writhing on the ground. The bushes rattled as their assailant stepped out. "So nice of you to drop in, Potter, just like I planned," said..._Professor McGonagall!!??_Laughing, she picked up a froze and frightened Derek. "It's time to meet the Dark Lord, Mudblood!"


	9. Chapter 9

Harry couldn't believe it. _McGonagall?_ No, it couldn't possibly be...could it? But, then again, it had been McGonagall who'd handed him that newspaper to begin with. Had it...?

"What are you doing?" Derek seemed more than a little confused himself as he was hauled up off his feet, "I thought you were on our side, whatever you said your name was!"

"You watch yourself with me, Mudblood!" McGonagall roared at him. Harry's jaw would have hit the ground if he weren't completely immobilized. It had to be a fake; yes, it did; the real Professor McGonagall would never say anything like that. And sure enough, a familiar figure he had seen before in the alley on Privet Drive came running up from behind the nearest tree. "Got him I see, Gaspard," he told "McGonagall," glaring Derek down, "And here's the famous Harry Potter, helpless and all alone," he sneered down at the figures on the ground before him, "I say we finish him now and reap a reward from the Dark Lord beyond our wildest dreams."

"No," the fake McGonagall shook her/his head, "You know what the Dark Lord's said so often; he'd prefer the honor of killing Potter himself if he could help it; we'd get a bigger reward..."

She (or more certainly he) abruptly started shaking and becoming more masculine in appearance; apparently he'd used polyjuice potion at some point, and it was now wearing off. In seconds, he'd returned to his true form of Gaspard Gavertson. "As I was saying, we'd get a bigger reward if we delivered Potter to him alive so he could do it himself," he continued, tightening his grip on Derek's collar as he tried to pull away, " Get him and the rest of his blood traitor friends together; the sooner we get out of here and back to his side, the better; I don't..."

Abruptly, there came a pair of loud pops to the left. To Harry's delight, a pair of family figures had appeared. "Gavertson," Sirius glared furiously at the Death Eater.

"Black," his foe flared back, "I knew we'd see each other again, blood traitor."

"There were worse blood traitors in the Black family than Sirius," Lupin stepped forward aside Sirius, wand leveled at the Gavertsons, "Release the boy now."

"Stand where you are!" Gaspard held his wand right to Derek's temple, "One more step, Lupin, and this boy is...!"

Quickly, Derek sank his teeth into the Death Eater's hand. With a loud howl, Gaspard released him. "_Accio_!" Lupin conjured Derek towards himself, then turned his wand towards Harry. With a loud blast of light, Harry felt himself able to move again. "Harry, take him and get him to the castle, quickly," Lupin pushed Derek towards him as he released the others from their spells as well, "Sirius and I will try and hold..."

"_Crucio_!" came the loud roar from Theodoric, and Lupin fell to the ground in agony, trying to keep from screaming as the torture curse overtook him. "_Accio_!" the Dark wizard shouted again, and Derek was dragged towards him. Harry quickly seized his friend by the arm and dug in hard. "Why are you doing this!" he demanded as he felt Ron grab hold of his midsection and start pulling as well, "What do you want him for!"

"You think we're going to tell you, Potter?" Theodoric all but snickered at him, "You'll find out in due time once the Dark Lord cannot be stopped by you or anyone...if you live that long, that is!"

"You bet I shall!" he shouted more bravely than he felt at the moment, feeling Neville grab hold of him as well, although both he and Ron plus Harry still weren't enough to keep Derek from being pulled towards their foe's grasping fingers.

"Brave to the last, just like his folks," Gaspard sneered, firing a very loud spell right at Sirius, who ducked just in time to avoid it before it shattered a very thick oak behind him, "Neither you nor they care to understand, Potter, that the Dark Lord has done more good for wizardkind than anyone in wizarding history! He alone has carried the banner of wizardhood high; he alone wishes to unite and exalt our race! He alone has the spine to do what others dare not and rid us all of corrupting influences of inferiors!"

"And where would we be without the Muggles, mind you?" Ron shouted out loud himself, pulling harder as Derek got closer to Theodoric's grasp, "Don't you or anyone in You Know Who's camp care to realize we'd've died out long ago without them?"

"A blasted fool just like your old man!" Gaspard barked at him, "You should have been chucked out with your whole family years ago and turned into Muggles yourselves! Well, it won't be too late for that before long, so I can simply say..."

"_Lumos totalum_!" Hermione's voice rose up. Seconds later an absolutely blinding blast of light lit up the woods-so bright Harry had to both shut his eyes and turn his head to keep from going completely blind. But he could hear the Death Eaters howling in pain from the light, and the spell slackened, sending him and the others toppling to the ground. "This way, quickly!" he could feel Hermione lifting all four of them up, "It'll fade away in a couple of seconds!"

"How come you can...?" Ron was momentarily cut off as he walked straight into a tree, still somewhat blinded, before continuing, "...can you see well enough to know which way the castle is?"

Any answer she might have given was rendered moot as dark spells started flying blindly around their heads. "Never mind, as long as we get out of here quickly!" Harry groped around for Derek and hefted him to his feet once he found him. His vision was starting to return, and he could make out the outline of the castle through the trees. The five of them were quickly through the edge of the Forbidden Forest...

When Harry abruptly was slammed into the back by a spell, sending him and Derek toppling over and sliding forward along the ground. Laughing, Theodoric was rushing quickly upon them. He raised his wand high before Harry could get back to his feet, and let out the carnal cry, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry tried to roll away, knowing the spell would hit him regardless in a few seconds. He shut his eyes, hoping this wasn't the end...

And it wasn't the end, for he heard only a loud thumping sound, as if the spell had hit something in between the wand and himself. His eyes flew open, and were amazed to register flashing colors in midair in front of him, and a loud cry from Theodoric as he frantically dove to the ground to avoid the rebounding spell, which exploded a large conifer behind him in flames. The Death Eater stumbled back to his feet, but before he could fire again...

"Expelliarmus!" it was Neville over Harry's shoulder, firing the disarming spell that sent Theodoric's wand flying back into the forest. He stumbled after it. "Thank you," Harry commended Neville as he helped Derek back up.

"Don't mention it," Neville mumbled modestly, "I've wanted to do that for..."

"Harry, over here!" came Hermione's call. She and Ron were standing by the Quidditch broom shed. ""Something's not right here," she told him when he'd joined the two of them, tugging on the doorknob, "It's never supposed the be locked this tight, and I don't remember the windows being blacked out like this."

She gestured at them with her wand, then waved everyone back while she pointed her wand at the knob and mumbled, "_Alohomora." _The door creaked open, but nothing happened. Low humming, however, could be heard inside. Harry hesitantly peered over Hermione's shoulder-and nearly fell over in shock. Professor Sprout, whom, come to think of it, he hadn't seen all day, sat on the floor, her eyes noticeably out of focus, humming softly away. And on the floor next to her, stone still, was the real Professor McGonagall, clearly under the influence of the full body bind. "Professor? Professor?" he waved his hands in front of both of their faces, but got no reply. "What's the matter with them?" Derek leaned over his shoulder, frowning as he took in the unpleasant scene.

"You probably don't want to know, Derek. This explains a lot," Harry told the others gravely, bending down to lift Professor McGonagall up into a sitting position, "They must have caught Professor Sprout when she was going to the forest, maybe for some more herbs, or lured her there, and bewitched her to lure McGonagall out there as well. Then they used something to make Polyjuice Potion with her and locked the two of them in here."

"Or got Professor Sprout to do it, because clearly something's in place that kept them from getting into the castle," Ron glanced back at the woods, and whatever the boundary that had protected Harry in place there, "What happened there just a minute ago?"

"I think I have an idea, but that's really not the most important thing at the moment," Hermione took Professor Sprout's hand and lifted her up; their Herbology instructor was still entranced enough to not resist, "Right now let's get the two of them to the hospital ward; Harry, go to Dumbledore's office and tell him about this; by now Sirius and Lupin had to have warned him something went wrong. I'll meet all of you in the library..."

"Again? Even when our lives are in danger you can't keep yourself away from the bloody library!" Ron complained, "It's almost psychotic on your part...!"

"To remember where I'd heard the name Andric Vydzaal before," she glared at him, "Now come on, Ron; there's no telling if their conditions are worse than they appear."

She all but pushed Professor Sprout at him, sending Ron almost stumbling to the ground. Harry would have wanted to help as well-after all these years, Professor McGongall almost felt like a family member-but he agreed with Hermione's point that Dumbledore should know as quickly as possible what had just happened.

He thus burst into a very brisk run across the castle grounds towards the front door. Pushing them open, he barrelled breathlessly through the halls of the still largely deserted castle until he came to a stop at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. His brow furled here, however; he couldn't remember what the new password was. "Uh...rutabagas?" he guessed off the top of his head. Nothing happened at all. "Um...Cornwall...bowling...?"

"Parsnaps."

"Huh?" Harry glanced up. "Oh, Nick," he noticed the his house ghost circling overhead, having come up undetected behind him.

"It's parsnips at the moment, Harry," Nick winked at him, "Something amiss? You seem quite out of breath? I thought I'd heard..."

"I'll explain later; parsnips," Harry stammered at the griffin statue, which did in fact obligingly leap aside. A quick jog up the stairs led to Dumbledore's office. Somehow, he thought, it looked even more cluttered than usual, as if something had been working on the headmaster's mind lately; indeed, the Pensieve was glowing, signaling he'd dropped some memories in for viewing before they'd left on the field trip. Something inside him was set off. Perhaps they could help him find out something important with whatever was going on.

He bustled over and glanced into the Pensieve. Inside he could make out yet another Wizengamot scene-and on a bench near the edge of the row he could make out what was definitely a younger Amaralda Dickinson. He nodded softly. Much as he had apprehensions about protruding so intimately into Dumbledore's memories, he felt he had to know more about Mrs. Dickinson's past. So it was without hesitation that he touched his wand to the Pensieve and moments later found himself being sucked into the past.

He landed with a soft thud next to Dumbledore, who was watching the floor around Courtroom #10 with rapt attention. Harry glanced around. The chamber was indeed packed wall to wall with witches and wizards, including, miserably enough, Rita, preparing to take notes, and up on the dais Barty Crouch, Sr., who looked stern but not furious. Whatever was about to transpire, Harry reasoned, must have taken place before his son had been caught torturing Neville's parents with the Lestranges. His gaze then fell on Mrs. Dickinson at the end of the row, cradling a baby Emma in her arms. In contrast to the comparatively calm looks of everyone else in the chamber, her face was warped with a mixture of rage and grief-looks that intensified as the door to the courtroom swung open, and a pair of Dementors glided in, leading with them a squat, unpleasant looking man, whose face was pale and sunken; the Dementors must have worked overtime on him, Harry supposed. They dumped the man into the chair in the center of the room, the chains on which rose up and bound his arms to the chair. "Thaddeus Devlin," came Crouch's strict voice as he rose up, "You are hereby charged with participating in the murder of Tiberius Castlebert, ordered specifically by He Who Must Not Be Named. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"I...I...I didn't...!" Devlin weakly started to mutter.

"Do not try and play coy with us, Devlin!" Crouch thundered at him, "We have testimony that places you among those You Know Who sent to commit this horrible crime; Igor Karkaroff has specifically named you in testimony given with us..."

"Ah yes, the release the lesser evil to get the supposed greater one, Crouch," muttered Mad Eye Moody softly to Dumbledore's left, "Too bad Karkaroff's still a monster, he should still be serving..."

"Shhh," Dumbledore softly hissed at his associate, listening as Crouch continued, "...further, the Secret Keeper for Tiberius Castlebert has agreed to testify today to put you away. Send him in," he announced to a pair of wizards closest to the door. Harry nearly fell over to see Lucius Malfoy striding into the chamber, a look of cool confidence on his face. "Mr. Crouch, honored members of the Wizengamot," he greeted them all with feigned respect, "I would like to bring to light the truth of the Castlebert affair for your benefit."

"Can't be sure he arranged this as insurance to make sure he wasn't prosecuted," Moody grumbled to Harry's left again. To this Dumbledore merely nodded softly. "As you know now," Lucius continued to the witches and wizards in the chamber, "When it became clear Tiberius needed to go into protective custody owing to what he heard, I volunteered to be the Secret Keeper; we've been friends most of our lives, so it made sense. Then, on the night in question, I was inside my manor, reading the Prophet, when all of a sudden six of You Know Who's followers burst in and demanded to know where Tiberius was. I held out as long as I could, but," he sniffed some fake tears, "They threatened to kill my wife and son unless I cooperated, so in the end I had no choice but to comply and tell them what they wanted to know. It was also at that point they placed me under the Imperius Curse to make me do their bidding in other matters. Words cannot describe the grief I still feel to have seen such a good friend die like the way Tiberius did..."

"We understand, Mr. Malfoy," Crouch said with misplaced sympathy, "Was Mr. Devlin one of those that attacked you that night?"

Lucius made an effort to look Devlin over thoroughly. Yes, he definitely was one of them," he said firmly and with a slick smile as Devlin started sputtering in shock.

"I see," Crouch nodded firmly, "Did you specifically recognize any of the others?"

"Only Rosier, whom, I understand, is dead already," Lucius said flatly, "Please, Mr. Crouch, I request, for Tiberius's memory, make sure this...this subhuman slug gets nothing less than life in Azkaban," he pointed sharply at Devlin.

"Given the brutality of the attack on Mr. Castlebert, I'm sure that can probably be arranged," Crouch nodded, "You may go now, Lucius."

He bustled for the door, Harry noticing, given the angle he was at, a smile spreading on Malfoy's father's face as he left. Mrs. Dickinson stood up to leave as well, picking the baby Emma up. This in turn prompted Dumbledore to rise as well and follow her. Harry jumped up and pushed his way after the headmaster, listening in as he left to Crouch proclaiming a sentence of life in Azkaban for Devlin, and catching a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of more than half the Wizengamot's hands going up in approval. But he had more important things to listen to now.

He increased his pace once outside the courtroom as Dumbledore did the same to keep up with Mrs. Dickinson, who was headed for the stairs up to the main Ministry atrium. "Amaralda," the headmaster called out to her. Mrs. Dickinson stopped on the second step up, but did not turn around. "I have nothing further to say to you, Albus," she mumbled softly and coldly.

"Oh, I would think we would have much to say with each other," Dumbledore came to a stop, "For what it is worth, Amaralda, the Order is sorry about what happened. I assure you, our sentry was gravely sorry he left, but he was convinced..."

"I don't care to hear your excuses, Dumbledore!" Mrs. Dickinson wheeled on him, furious, "Tiberius was everything to me! You gave me your word nothing would happen to him...!"

"I did," Dumbledore nodded solemnly, "And thus some blame does fall on me. I feel, however, Amaralda, you are failing to examine the entire situation. I had stringently insisted you not choose Lucius Malfoy as the Secret Keeper..."

"And there you go again, with your hateful tirades against Lucius!" Mrs. Dickinson thundered at the top of her lungs, "As far as you're concerned, Dumbledore, he was practically You Know Who's right hand man from day one, even though he's already been cleared by the Wizengamot of any wrong-doing at all! The truth is, you need a scapegoat, and Lucius is it!"

"I never insinuated he was Voldemort's right hand man from the beginning," Dumbledore emphasized, "Certainly not so. But I strongly believe Lucius had been gaining much influence within Voldemort's inner circle at the time Tiberius was placed into our custody; being chosen by you to protect Tiberius gave him a chance to please his master beyond..."

"I will stand for no more of this!" Mrs. Dickinson coldly cut him off, "I've known the Malfoy family for thirty years, Dumbledore; Lucius would have never harmed Tiberius!"

"I fear, Amaralda, you are too blinded by..."

"Shut up!" she roared furiously at him, making Harry jump backwards in surprise. The outburst also started the baby Emma crying. "And you be quiet too!" her mother roared at her, "I mean it, young lady!"

"Perhaps you're only making it worse for her right now, Amaralda," Dumbledore remained calm despite her tirades, "And it would be best to treat this girl with utmost love from here on; she is, as of now, the only link to Tiberius you have left."

"Tiberius who?" she glared at him, "I don't know any Tiberius Castlebert from here on, Dumbledore. It was his foolish beliefs that got him in his mess, and you encouraged it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm a busy woman, and I have business to attend to right now."

She stomped up the stairs with a still crying Emma, going three steps at a time, not looking back. Dumbledore shook his head softly. "I fear, Amaralda, your child will be in for a sad life if that's the way you feel," he mumbled softly to himself, turning to leave, "What would Tiberius think of you now? You may not be the woman he loved anymore if you choose to hold this grudge."

"I think it's time to leave this memory, Harry," came the older Dumbledore's voice from behind and above him. Harry turned to see him looking down from the ceiling. Satisfied he'd seen enough anyway, he reached up and took the older Dumbledore's hand. Seconds later, he was pulled back out into the headmaster's office. "Curiosity got the better of you, I see," Dumbledore eyed him down, "So you do realize, Harry, I doubt you would enjoy it if someone was to go through your memories so often without you knowing."

"Understood, sir," Harry nodded softly, "It's just...everything that Mrs. Dickinson said..."

"You wished to know that. I am not surprised," Dumbledore nodded softly; there was something in his expression that Harry couldn't quite make out, "If there is one thing to be learned from what you have seen, Harry, let it be that bearing anger destroys a person. To hold a grudge for long times is to murder yourself without actually ending your natural life, and it is a cold and realistic a death as being struck with the Killing Curse; I myself have seen many, many people besides Amaralda Dickinson destroy themselves by hating others, and even if the initial reason may have been right, they carried the disdain much too far (he seemed a bit melancholy upon saying this, Harry thought). I hope that because you have seen this, Harry, you will see for yourself the folly of such a way of choosing to live and avoid it if you were ever to be tempted to do so."

"I'll try, Professor," Harry said quickly; he wasn't exactly sure he could promise it given how frequently both Malfoy and Snape held grudges against him for who he was. "So," he had to get a few things out that he had seen in the Pensieve, "The guard on Mr. Castlebert got lured away..."

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore told him, cutting in rather quickly, "Regrettably, the Death Eaters led the guard to believe a loved one was in grave danger; by the time the ruse became wholly evident, it was already too late, particularly since, as I presume you saw, Mrs. Dickinson went against the Order's advice and chose a most unreliable Secret Keeper."

"And you couldn't talk her out of choosing Mr. Malfoy?"

"Believe me, we tried," Dumbledore walked over towards his desk, stroking Fawkes on the back, "Stubborness can sometimes be a boon to in a crisis, Harry, but more often it can blind us to painful truths. Perhaps given the uncertainty of Voldemort's time in power, Mrs. Dickinson was only being rational to choose someone she knew well, but she was too blinded by that loyalty to see who Lucius really was underneath. And there is, Harry, most assuredly a grave difference between true friendship and that kind of relationship, so I would hope you are grateful to be able to experience the former with those close to you."

Harry nodded softly. "And so Mr. Malfoy just got off scot free, then?" he asked, a scowl now permeating his lips.

"To date, yes," Dumbledore shook his head, "His story proved quite convincing to the Wizengamot, and his influence in the Ministry regretably blinded them to look any closer than they should have. Oh, we've continued looking for evidence that would have tied him to the murder, but none yet have conclusively come to light, and given Minister Fudge's hard-to-break beliefs about pure bloods, it would probably take much convincing to prove it."

He leaned back in his chair and stared straight at Harry. "But I do suppose you had other reasons to come here, did you not?" he asked, "How is young Master Whitesell at the moment?"

"Oh, uh," Harry's mind snapped back to its initial setting when he'd entered the office. He related the tale of what had happened since they'd left the museum. Dumbledore took it all in within the slightest change in expression. "So, I was correct to take the precautions in the end," he mused cryptically once Harry had finished.

"What precautions exactly, sir?"

"This is not, I'm afraid, the time or place I can give you the full answer," Dumbledore shook his head, "I am, though, quite glad you and the others are all right. You can run along now and give them my relief no lives were taken. And do be careful from here on; if the Gavertson brothers could go to this length to do what they appear to have for Voldemort, we had best be on our toes for what else they might be capable of. And Harry?"

"Yes?" he turned right in the doorway.

"I think there may be others who may need looking out for in this school given the currently climate," the headmaster gave him a knowing look over his half-moon glasses, "Given it would appear to be a matter of interest to you, if you could do such looking out, I think you may find a good reward in the end."

With a smile, he hefted a copy of the Prophet off his desk and buried his nose in it. Somewhat puzzled, Harry nonetheless made his way down the stairs and back up the hall, lost in thought...

...so lost in thought that he apparently lost track of where he was going, and only snapped back to reality as he heard a loud thump against the wall in the corridor parallel to the one he was currently in (which apparently was the one that led to the Charms classroom, he recognized), as if someone had been plowed against the wall to his right. "What do you think you're doing?" he in fact heard Emma's voice cry out, "Vincent...!"

"I'd say you're going to just be quiet and listen to everything I have to say," came Malfoy's voice, sounding murderous. Harry inched as close to the doorway to the next hall as he dared, listening in as Malfoy continued, "Because, Dickinson, if I ever catch you fraternizing with Potter again, Goyle and Crabbe here will have to get..."

"How dare you!" Emma remained defiant despite the warning, "You don't own this school, Draco; I can be friendly with whoever I want, and Harry...!"

"...is a complete enemy of Slytherin house and all in it," Malfoy snarled, presumably right in her face, "Anyone who wants to be friendly with him is a traitor to Salazar Slytherin and his ideals. And frankly, come to think of it, I don't know why you ever ended up here in Slytherin in the first place, Dickinson; you're as much a Pureblood blood traitor as Weasley, I can certainly see that much after today..."

"I can't believe you'd actually condone what the Death Eaters did today!" Emma was furious, "Little children have been carried off into Lord Voldemort's clutches; several Howarts students in the hospital...!"

"They could have gotten out of the way," Malfoy seemed wholly unconcerned, to Harry's immense ire, "And if you think the fates of a couple of Gryffindors means anything to me, especially some of Potter's lovely Quidditch teammates..."

Harry's stomach did a horrible somersault. "They're students like the rest of us, Draco!" Emma roared back at him, "I can't believe you hold houses in such...ow, ow, you're hurting me, Gregory!"

"Don't stop, Goyle," Malfoy coldly instructed his stooge even as Emma whimpered softly in pain. Harry questioned whether or not to jump in. "Listen and listen good," he heard Malfoy snarl furiously at Emma, "I catch you near Potter again, or if you ever talk back to me the way you did in the museum, the pain you're feeling now's going to be an awful lot worse. And don't bother going to Professor Snape; he'll automatically side with me on this. And even though my father's an old family friend, he could very easily lobby Dumbledore to throw you out; maybe making you live like a Mudblood'll knock some sense into you, since clearly you're mother's not going to want you around after..."

"Your father," Harry could almost feel the cold fury in Emma's voice, "killed my father, Draco! I know it, and one day I'm going to prove it! He's a filthy...OW!"

"Is something going on here?" came Lockhart's rather jovial voice from up the hall just as Harry had made the decision to jump in and help.

"Oh, uh, no, Professor, we were all just having a nice talk about what happened early today," Malfoy said quickly, "And we were just finishing, weren't we boys?"

Low grunts were all that Goyle and Crabbe could manage. Harry slid backwards away from the archway, but fortunately Malfoy and his clique could be heard sauntering off in a different direction. "Ah, Miss Dickinson, so there you are," he heard Lockhart greeting Emma, "Quite an eventful day, wasn't it? Too bad I was detained with the Daily Prophet, or I might have stepped in to assist, but anything for the press. You all right?"

"Sure, sure, Professor," Emma said quickly, covering up. "Uh, Professor..." she started to say, but after a long pause merely mumbled, "Never mind." Harry couldn't blame her if she couldn't bring herself to tell Lockhart, who clearly wasn't the best person to go to for moral support.

"Oh," if Lockhart suspected anything was amiss-which Harry doubted given how thick the man's head usually was-he didn't show it. "Well before I go, let me say, you really took quite a few chances there earlier, running around after those Death Eaters," the teacher continued, "I can understand if you wanted to be as famous as Potter, but please, next time, come to me if you need some pointers on the matter; I have more than enough experience chasing Dark Wizards around. Fame is a strange and powerful thing; if you..."

"Professor," Emma spoke up softly, more than a little dumbfoundedness in her voice at what she was being told, "I'd really like to be alone right now if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Lockhart clearly still didn't see anything out of the ordinary, "But you know where my office is if you need any advice on being famous."

He could be heard trotting off, clicking his heels together. Once this sound had died off, Harry could hear Emma slide to the floor and start sobbing. Now was the time he could intercede, he knew. He hesitantly glanced around the corner. No one else was in sight. He started around the corner...

"Miss Dickinson," came Snape's unwelcome voice from the end of the hall. The Potions master came striding forward, glowering. "Didn't you get the message; all Slytherins were to report back to their commons room upon arrival back here at the castle," he told her sternly.

"I..." she seemed almost ready to say something about Malfoy's threats towards her, but simply shook her head and mumbled, "I guess I just forgot..."

"Well get down there, then; we want to take a head count to make sure everyone's here," he grumbled, jerking a finger back in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories. "Well, there you are, Potter," he noticed and acknowledged him as she trudged off, "I hope you're proud of yourself. Not only did you completely bend the rules and endanger every single student in this school, just like your dear daddy would have happily done himself, but you've put Hogwarts students in the hospital too. So when Gryffindor Quidditch loses the next match to Slytherin by a landslide, they can all blame you for it. The only question is, do you finally have the guts to blame yourself? Or are you really your father's son through and through? Let me know when you have the answer to that."

He seemed angrier than usual as he turned as stormed off. Harry leaned against the wall, trying to take everything in. He still felt numb to know some of his Quidditch teammates had been injured; if any of them were serious, he couldn't forgive himself. Had he really made everything infinitely worse for everyone this afternoon? It was horrible to contemplate.

He could still hear the loud sniffing up the hall. There was, he knew, something he had to do first before he could join everyone else in the library. He bustled after Emma. "Hey," he spoke up loudly as she came into sight near the stairway to the Slytherin common room, making her come to a stop, "I, uh, before you go back, I, uh, I just wanted to say thank you for earlier, both for what you said to Malfoy and what you did. That was pretty brave on your part. You should be proud, really."

"Thank you," she did not turn around, "I'm glad you're willing to see that, Harry, if no one else is."

"Listen, I heard Malfoy being rough on you just now," he told her, "I can tell Dumbledore; he'll..."

"It's no use," she shook her head sadly, "It would be my word against Draco's, and he's got his father behind him, and his father's got the Ministry in his back pocket, and they can sway my mother any way they please-not that she cares about me, anyway..."

"I..." Harry wondered if he should let on that he saw how her mother's grudge against the Order had started; after all this time, he still had no idea how widely used Pensieves were in the Wizarding world, "I, uh, I've heard about everything that happened, after they caught the one man who...who got your father. Your mother..."

"Hates me!" she lamented, slumping against the wall, "I bring back too many painful memories for her by just existing, so she avoids me every chance she can get! Doesn't anyone else in Slytherin know what it's like to spend hours on hours in your room alone! To feel like you amount to absolutely nothing, that no one cares! Really, Harry, I'm just as much an orphan as you are!"

"Well, you do amount to a lot, Emma, you proved that much this afternoon," without even fully realizing it, Harry found himself walking over and putting a hand on her shoulder, "I don't know why your mother has to react that way to you, but she's dead wrong; you're fifty times more a person than someone like Malfoy could ever be. So if he gives you any more trouble, let me know, and I'll see to it it comes back around on him. And if there's anything else I can do for you..."

"There is," Emma rose up and finally looked him right in the eye, "Word's been going around you've been helping to train the students in case Voldemort tries anything. I don't care what my mother says about remaining neutral; he's got to be stopped for good, and anything I can do to stop him, I want to do. Let me know when and where you're meeting next; I want to be as prepared as possible if I ever come face to face with him."

"Umm," Harry mused. Although clearly her intentions were good, Ron would clearly not take having her, or likely any Slytherin for that matter, attending a Dumbledore's Army session well, "Umm, well, I haven't planned anything out yet, but I suppose I could let you know when one's planned out..."

"Please do," she told him firmly, "I don't care what Draco or anyone says, I'm not blindly following the wizard who ordered my father killed just because I'm in his House. And Harry, thank you again," she took his hand softly, "You're the only who's stood by me."

She quickly withdrew the hand, almost embarrassed, and bustled down the stairs towards the Slytherin Commons. Harry stood still for a moment before turning and walking in the direction of the library. Regardless of how successful his raid on the museum had been, Voldemort had still lost today...

* * *

"What took you so long?" Ron greeted him with more than a little impatience as he entered the library.

"I got hung up on the way," Harry said quickly, feeling deep down that telling Ron the whole story might set him off again. He noticed Neville had left; perhaps he was keeping watch on the professors in the hospital wing, he supposed. "Anything yet, Hermione?"

"In fact yes; I found it right here," Hermione hefted a book onto the nearest table and opened it while everyone else gathered around her, "Andric Vydzaal was a notorious Dark Wizard who lived in present day Luxembourg around 1050. He committed wide scale atrocities against Muggles all across the Continent. Eventually he was defeated and banished to the Island of Drear. But he wasn't alone, as they had thought. For it was then his partnership with Salazar Slytherin began."

"Slytherin?" Ron's eyes flew wide open.

"Yes," she nodded, "After leaving Hogwarts in disgust at being unable to convince the other founders to follow his views on wizarding bloodlines, Slytherin retreated to Drear, obsessed with uncovering the secrets of immortality and absolute power (this did not surprise Harry in the least given that Voldemort, as Slytherin's last surviving descendant, had more than inherited these traits). As Vydzaal shared these principles, the two of them worked together to unlock whatever secrets there were to find. Exactly what they found, if anything, has never been fully revealed-their journals have long since been destroyed-but we know that after three years of this, Vydzaal mysteriously vanished after one experiment went horribly wrong, and Slytherin apparently abandoned his quest after Vydzaal's disappearance and died shortly thereafter."

"So do you suppose whatever Voldemort wants with me, it may have to do with this experiment from centuries ago?" Derek inquired, clearly both intrigued and worried.

"It seems possible," Harry concurred, "But there's no clues at all in there about exactly what Slytherin wanted to do, Hermione?"

"None, sorry," she shook her head, "And I read from cover to cover three times to make sure (Ron almost keeled over in shock). So we'd better keep looking quickly-very quickly," she gave Derek a concerned glance, "Because after what just happened, I don't know how much long we can keep you safe."


	10. Chapter 10

Harry and the others searched the library from shelf to shelf over the next hour and a half, trying to find any further information on Slytherin or Andric Vydzaal that might be helpful for their investigation. But while both wizards got mentioned in a number of books-Slytherin having almost an entire shelf dedicated entirely to his life-none of them gave any information on any immortality experiments-rather surprising to Harry given he'd been sure the school's founders would be covered in its own library.

"Maybe we'll have to check the Restricted Section to get the answers," he mused to them as they converged at the checkout, having all come up with blanks themselves.

"No problem; I'll tell that git Lockhart we need to look for something concerning one of his exploits in there, and he'll have a permission slip for us in less than ten seconds," Ron grinned triumphantly. "Well it's true, you know," he quickly told Hermione as she started to protest this, "If it concerns him, he'll...what is it, Harry?"

Harry was frowning as he paced in circles. "Something the Gavertsons said before we escaped, about it not being too late to turn Ron's family into Muggles-is that even possible, Hermione?"

"Not by any conventional magic that I know of," she shook her head, "But Dark Wizards have been trying to tap into dangerous facets of magic for centuries; it's possible that's what Vydzaal and Slytherin were working on all those years ago."

"And that would certainly be something You Know Who would be interesting in learning if he could," Ron shivered at the very thought, "The sooner we do get permission to look through the Restricted Section, the..."

"Potter, there you are," it was Wood, striding into the library, looking rather grim, "Potter, I guess you heard what happened to Alicia at the museum..."

"Only in passing, Oliver," Harry seized up again to be reminded that a teammate had been injured during the melee, "What exactly...?"

"Hit by one of the Death Eaters' curses while they were all Apparating away; she'll be OK, but she won't make the next match with Slytherin," Wood shook his head sadly.

"I...I'm sorry, Oliver, I...I..."

"Don't worry about it, Potter; it was after you were unconscious already, so it's not your fault. And besides, Slytherin's down a man too; Pucey got hit with the same kind of curse. Now, anyway, I'm wondering," he turned towards Derek, "I noticed you flying around a little after the last practice; would you care to take Alicia's place in the next match?"

"Me?" Derek's jaw dropped, as did Harry's and his friends', "Um, well,...you're sure you're not making a mistake...?"

"Unfortunately spare Chasers are too hard to come by halfway through the school year, so right now you'd be our best option," Wood encouraged him.

"Um, well, Oliver, the thing is, Derek...he's not really all that skilled at Quidditch as you might think..." Harry tried to tell him.

"Oh don't worry about that, Potter; I can train him good and well before the match so he's as perfect as he can get. So what do you say, chap?" Wood extended his hand to Derek, who looked hesitantly at everyone else for an answer. "Well, I suppose, if no one else is readily available," Ron nodded slowly, "But make sure you tell Fred and George to cover him, Wood; this'll be his first time...well, against such a rough lot as Slytherin..."

"No problem at all Weasley; given your brothers are human Bludgers in their own rights, I don't think your cousin here has much to worry about. So is it a deal?" Wood gestured with his palm again. Derek shook it slowly after a slight pause. "Excellent; meet you on the pitch first thing after breakfast tomorrow; you'll be a human Quidditch machine before you know it, Whitesell my boy," Wood was overjoyed as he bounded off. "What exactly did I just do?" Derek stared blankly ahead.

"Hopefully not just dug your own grave," Ron was equally stunned, "Harry..."

"I'm thinking, Ron, I'm thinking," Harry tried to think it over, "I guess it'll work-after all, all Derek would have to do is catch the Quaffle and try and score; in the heat of the game, no one would notice if he hasn't got enough skills-but I'll keep an eye on him through the match, and if the two of you could do the same..."

"We'll do our best, Harry, that's all we cam promise," Hermione told him, also looking rather floored at how things had just progressed. "Well," she glanced up at the nearest clock, "It is about time we all head back to Gryffindor Tower for the night anyway..."

"Is that the time?" Harry was amazed to see it was almost quarter to nine already, "Yes, we'd better get moving; Filch'll start roaming the corridors pretty soon..."

The four of them quickly bustled out of the library and back to the Gryffindor tower. Harry's mind raced with everything he'd learned that day. An awful lot had fallen into place for them, and yet somehow, he had a feeling they were missing something important, something that would explain everything to them, something right in front of him that he wasn't seeing at the moment...

But that wasn't all. No matter how much Wood had told him it wasn't his fault, Alicia's mishap still felt very much like his fault. After all, he had run upstairs with the spellbook; he had put her and everyone else in harm's way.

"_No, of course not," _he tried to rationalize with himself, "_There was no way you could have known anything would have turned out the way it did." _

But nonetheless, it had turned out that way. Much as he absolutely loathed to agree with Umbridge on anything, her description of his actions earlier had some merit. Was everything that had gone wrong at the museum after the Death Eaters had appeared all his fault...?

"You all right, Harry?" came Derek's voice in his ear, snapping him out of it. "Uh, yes, of course, Derek," he said quickly, taking note that in his stupor they'd already entered the Commons room, and Ron and Hermione had already went upstairs to bed, "Just, uh, thinking of everything that went down today, that's all..."

"Yeah, I can see, that really is a lot to take in," his Muggle friend apparently bought the sincerity as they climbed up to the bedroom, where, not surprisingly, an extra bed for Derek had magically appeared the previous evening. "Boy, there's no way I could have imagined I'd get mixed up in anything like this just a few days ago in my wildest dreams," the boy whispered softly so as to not wake a sound asleep Seamus right next to him, slipping under the covers, "And now I'm going to be playing in your big game, whatever it is-if only all the people back in Little Whingling could see me now after they slammed doors in my face all those times."

"Indeed," Harry agreed, sliding under the covers himself, "The down side, though, is you'll probably never get to tell them about it, Derek, or the Ministry'll be up in arms."

There was an abrupt and prolonged silence from the new bed. "Derek?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah, Harry, I was just realizing, this all has to come to an end eventually," Derek sounded melancholy, "That at some time after the holidays, I'll probably end up right back on Privet Drive no better off than I was before," he sighed sadly, "And this'll all fade into a dream. Just a once in a lifetime dream, of the home I never had..."

He grew silent again, and soon began snoring. Harry nodded softly to himself as he removed his glasses and rolled over, wishing there was some way they could keep Derek around longer. But it just couldn't work; the Ministry would find out in the end, and that wouldn't bode well for any of them. No, Derek had to return to the miserable life he'd know just a few days ago. But there had to be a way to prevent that, there just had to be some way of getting around that awful scenario...

But if there was any, he couldn't think of it at the moment, as he drifted off into a troubled sleep...

* * *

...and suddenly he found himself back in a cold cavern-somewhere. The snake circled lazily around his feet, buzzing. Stacked against the wall were several large runes, all covered with strange writing. Harry tapped his foot impatiently, waiting...

...and indeed it was then that several loud pops came from an adjoining cavern. "Come," he called. A masked figure entered, carrying the Scone Crown and the Vydzaal spellbook. "My Lord, just as you have requested," Lucius told him, handing them off it him.

"_Very good, Lucius_," Harry fingered them eagerly, "_You have given me another outlet for that which I ultimately wish to accomplish in life. You had no trouble, I presume?" _

"None whatsoever, my Lord, it was simple..."

_"Apart from Harry Potter, I suppose_," he started straight into Malfoy's father's eyes, "_Yes, I believe he tried to break it up, nearly exposed what I was trying to do..." _

"Not by any stretch, my Lord; no one believes Potter at all; I made extra sure of that just in case; no one suspects at all what you are planning..."

_"Indeed. But,"_ he leaned closer, "_I sense Potter wasn't the only one to resist our efforts...a Pureblood...how can that be...?" _

"Amaralda Dickinson's fool of a daughter, my Lord; she has too much of her cursed father in her for my comfort," Lucius grumbled bitterly, "Fortunately, no one believes her either, especially not her gullible mother..."

_"That will be all, Lucius_," he cut him off as the sound of terrified sobbing could be heard getting louder, _"You may leave now." _

Lucius did trudge off, past a pair of other Death Eaters now approaching with about two dozen or so deeply frightened children, none much older than eleven at most. "_Well, some more patriotic volunteers for my army of wizarding liberation, I see,"_ Harry exclaimed, "_Good work, Amycus, Alecto; I always appreciate new recruits..." _

"Not you!" one terrified girl whimpered at the sight of him, "Please, let us go; we all want to go home...!"

_"Actually, my dear, you ARE home," _Harry told her patronizingly, picking up the snake and thrusting it at her, making her recoil in terror, "_This is your new home; consider me your new father. And from this moment on, I will provide for all of you if you do exactly what I wish; we'll all be one big happy family, won't we? You there, what's your name?" _

He glanced at a boy of no more than nine, who shook in fear at being singled out. "Ch-Ch-Chauncey," he stammered in a barely audible voice.

"_Chauncey, is it? Step forward, Chauncey, I have a special present for you. Oh don't be afraid,"_ he said when the boy refused to take a step, "_No, no, my boy, I'm merely going to set you free from all your worries." _

"You're going to set me free?"

"_Yes; trust me, Lord Voldemort always follows through on his word. Come on now, don't be shy, come forward." _

Just as the boy started to hesitantly step forward, another pair of pops rang out. Harry's expression darkened significantly. _"Late again, are we, Gaspard, Theodoric?" _he said coldly at the Gavertsons as they fell to their knees, "_I do believe I summoned you here a good fifteen minutes ago..." _

"Our apologies, my Lord, we were delayed coming through..." Theodoric started to explain.

_"You know I don't care for excuses, Theodoric_," Harry glanced around the cavern, _"What I do care about, though, is that the boy I asked you to retrieve doesn't appear to be with you, even though I demanded you bring him..." _

"We, we did have him, my Lord; it was Potter again!" Gaspard protested as the children started whispering amongst themselves, "He took the child off us...there appears to be some kind of special protection at Hogwarts that we cannot..."

_"I will not stand for you throwing up Potter as an excuse much longer, Gaspard!" _he roared, making the Gavertsons start to shake, and making the Carrows softly snicker next to them. _"Now," _he said more calmly, "_What kind of protection does this appear to be that that fool Dumbledore may have put up?" _

"Some kind of mystic wall, my Lord; Gaspard and I have been trying to figure it out for hours before you summoned us; we've been working hard at trying to crack its secret; we will figure it out for you..."

_"You had better, Theodoric. And if you do not have the child with you when next I call you, the consequences shall be graver than you can imagine. Now bring him to me!"_ Harry fired blasts at the two of them as they frantically Disapparated. _"You see what I have to put up with?" _he asked the children, "_I am constantly surrounded by fools. Perhaps when all of you come of proper age, you can all do so much better for me. Now where were we? Oh yes, Chauncey my boy, come forward." _

The boy hesitantly approached him. "So you're setting me free?" he asked haltingly.

_"Yes, child; you are about to be freed from all your cares and worries. And in so doing, you shall give me the gift of more secure life," _he seized Chauncey's arm hard. "Ow, you're hurting me! What is this!" terror lit up the boy's face.

_"Do not worry, my boy; you won't have to worry about this any longer," _he drew his wand and aimed it right between Chauncey's eyes, "_And I commend you for your service to me; you have done Lord Voldemort very well. AVADA KEDAVRA!" _

A bright flash of green light obscured everything. Hundreds of miles away, Harry bolted upright in bed, sweating. He glanced at Derek, sound asleep to his left. It appeared they were running out of time, that Voldemort was starting to put the pieces together for whatever his plan was. And if he figured out how to undo whatever protection Dumbledore had put in place, the game was likely over.

* * *

"And he didn't say at all what he was planning to use the runes for?" a concerned Hermione asked him at breakfast the next morning.

"I woke up before I could see anything he might be hoping to use them for," Harry admitted, barely picking at the pancakes on his plate, "Do you have any ideas?"

"I have some theories, but nothing concrete yet," she shook her head, "Do you suppose we should tell Dumbledore they know he's got some kind of protection up?"

"It probably would help," Harry nodded. He extended a glanced upwards as the owls all flew in, but Hedwig wasn't among them this morning. "Nothing for me today..."

"Oh on the contrary, Potter, I think you'll enjoy this little piece of news," came Malfoy's most unwelcome voice from behind him. The morning copy of the Daily Prophet was all but slammed down on top of his plate from behind. Harry had a bad feeling what it was going to say, and a quick glance all but confirmed it:

**HARRY POTTER INCITES RIOT AT MUSEUM**

**A SPECIAL EXCLUSIVE BY RITA SKEETER**

_In what is becoming an apparent hobby with him, the Boy Who Lived is at it again, stirring up controversy wherever he goes. And this reporter was there to witness it personally as Potter led a wild melee at the Cunninghamton Museum, in a dangerous set of actions that led to major damage, theft, and kidnapping. _

_"It's a tragedy for this institution," lamented curator Artemus Wheelwright, "Not only have we lost the irreplaceable Scone Crown, but a number of other valuable artifacts were damaged beyond repair. How it came to all this I don't know." _

_One word easily explains it all: Potter. This reporter personally saw him running all over the museum in a craze, leading around the assailants dressed as Death Eaters as they destroyed everything, and, most gallingly, going outside right before Muggles were attacked. _

_"We are going to investigate everything that happened thoroughly, including a check of Potter's actions," Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic Dolores Umbridge said quite emphatically, "I would like to assure the public there is no proof that You Know Who had anything to do with this whatsoever, that it is quite possible Potter cooked this up as some sick publicity stunt, and if this is indeed true, that he will be prosecuted for it as any common criminal would." _

_Efforts to contact Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts were rebuffed, leading one to wonder why he would feel the need to protect Potter so much. Why does The Boy Who Lived feel the need to keep drawing attention to himself in this manner? Rest assured the answer will come out in due time. _

"Malfoy, I'm not really in the mood this morning," Harry told him as calmly as he could muster, "So just..."

"Oh, so you're only willing to be the superstar when you feel like it, is that it?" Malfoy taunted him, "So, how does it feel that no one believes you on everything yet again, all because you handled it in a way that made sure they wouldn't believe you?"

Ron slammed his utensils to the table and told Malfoy to stick his head somewhere that made Harry quite glad there were no teachers within earshot. "Temper, temper, Weasley," Malfoy yawned, "Who knows, if Rita's thoughtful enough, maybe she'll put you on the next edition-or this little twerp cousin of yours who isn't worth even half of Granger's family," he gestured contemptuously at Derek next to Harry.

"For your information, Malfoy," Hermione rose up, irate, "Derek here has just been selected to be on the Quidditch team for the next match. So don't be surprised if he helps drive Slytherin clean into the dirt..."

"Don't make me laugh, Granger," he snorted back, "The day Slytherin loses because of him is the day that..."

"Draco," it was Marcus Flint coming up behind him, looking quite agitated, "Dumbledore and Snape request we all meet them on the third floor; it's about the match with Gryffindor."

He had a strange dark look in his eye, Harry noticed-and one that Malfoy decoded right away. "You've got to be kidding me!" he shouted in frustration, "They wouldn't...!"

"They are," Flint glowered, "We've got to talk them out of it; I won't stand for it."

"Neither will I," Malfoy shot a furious glance back at Harry before following Flint out of the Great Hall. "What was that all about?" Derek frowned.

"Who cares; whatever it is, it puts them at a disadvantage for the match, and who's going to argue with that?" Ron shrugged dismissively, "Besides, I like pleasant surprises, so might as well wait to find out."

"Well we can't wait any longer; we're almost late for our first class," Hermione glanced at her watch, looking almost panicked.

"You think ten minutes to go is almost late?" Ron almost broke out laughing. Hermione gave him a glare. "You can stay, I'm going," she gathered up her belongings.

"All right, all right, no need to get pushy," Ron protested, grabbing his own, "You coming, Harry?"

"Eventually; there's something I'd like to check into first," Harry told him. At least given it was only History of Magic he'd be late for, he wouldn't be missing anything important.

He strolled out of the Great Hall and up the stairs to the third floor. He had a feeling he knew what had set Malfoy off, but wanted to confirm it himself. As he stopped at the landing at the top of the third floor staircase, he in fact noticed the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, plus Snape and Dumbledore and another familiar figure, huddled at the end of the corridor, talking loudly amongst themselves. It was at that moment that they then turned and started walking in unison in his direction, still engrossed in heavy discussion. Harry looked around for a hiding place. He noticed a large tapestry around the corner and slid behind it as the footsteps got closer. "...said it before, Headmaster, the answer is no, absolutely not!" Flint was arguing vehemently.

"I don't see what the problem is, Marcus," Dumbledore told him calmly, "I thought that Slytherin house would take any advantage to beat Gryffindor at Quidditch..."

"Not like this, Headmaster," Flint shot back as the group came to a stop right in front of the tapestry. Harry sucked in a breath, hoping no one noticed the tapestry was likely bulging. "There hasn't been a girl on a Slytherin house team for a hundred and fifty years, and it's not going to start on my watch!" the Slytherin captain continued ranting.

"Why can't you just give me a chance, Marcus?" Emma protested, "I've been trying harder than anyone to get on this team since I came to Hogwarts; I've done better than half the people that have been picked for the team since then, so why not now, when you need...?"

"Because you're too close to Potter for one thing, Dickinson!" Malfoy shouted angrily, "So we have no way of knowing you can be trusted to play for our side."

"That is absurd, Draco! I'd never throw a match...!"

"And you're not going to; if you force us to take her, Headmaster, we're not playing," Malfoy told Dumbledore roughly.

"Agreed," Flint chimed in, "You can't make us take a player we don't want."

"Well, you're right, Marcus, I can't make you decide who to choose for your team," Dumbledore said softly, "However, I must inform you that if do not take her, you will likely have to forfeit the match to Gryffindor, given that it appears no other eligible players appear to be coming forward."

"Then a forfeit it is, because..."

"Marcus," Snape spoke up slowly, "Let me remind you, Slytherin's prestige is put on display every time your team takes the pitch. Thus, if we forfeit this match, I will be quite upset with all of you for humiliating the rest of Slytherin house. Consider that very carefully, Marcus, because as you may be aware, I am not someone who likes to be humiliated."

There was a long silence before Flint let out a loud growl. "All right, she's on the team," he grumbled miserably.

"Thank you, Marcus, I can..." Emma started to say.

"Don't you dare thank me, because I'm only doing this under pressure," Flint warned her coldly, "And don't expect any Quaffles to come your way; you're an accessory to this team, nothing more, and you're off again right after Adrian's well enough to go again. And besides, we don't need you to flatten Gryffindor anyway."

"I just want to play," she said calmly.

"And that's all you will do. Is that all, Headmaster?" Flint asked Dumbledore impatiently.

"Only that I wish Slytherin good luck in the match," Dumbledore told him in return.

"Yeah, sure," Flint snarled disbelievingly, "Let's go, everyone; we've got practice in a half hour; we're staying out till we're perfect."

Footsteps started to tramp away. Harry started to come out from behind the tapestry-until Malfoy's voice rose up again just before he was in the open. "This is your one and only warning," he was presumably telling Emma as Harry froze in place, "I'll have my eye on you the whole match; you do anything that aids Gryffindor, anything at all, and I make sure both Bludgers are directed square into your face."

"I won't play to lose," Emma was defiant, "But if that's the way you and everyone feels about me being on this team, Draco, it won't be a tragedy if we do lose."

"We won't lose," Malfoy hissed, "Not as long as you just stay on your broom, stay away from Potter, and stay out of our way, because you do not belong here at all."

He finally stormed off after his teammates. Emma let out a low sigh, one that sounded both disappointed and relieved. "You can come out now, Harry," she unexpectedly proclaimed.

"How'd...?" Harry stuck his head out from behind the tapestry.

"Oh, Draco had been swaggering around the dormitory with that slanderous Prophet story all morning, crowing about how he was going to humiliate you with it at breakfast; instinct told me you'd want to see it handed back to him," she told him.

"Well, you guessed right," he stepped fully out, "Um, congratulations; looks like your dream's coming true at last."

"Same to your friend; I heard he made it as well," she told him, "Just keep an eye on him; I just have a gut feeling Draco'll be aiming right for him."

"Oh believe me, I will," he said, "So, do you suppose your mother will come, once you let her know?"

He could see he'd hit a nerve; Emma immediately lowered her head. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot how the two of you..." he started to say.

"It's all right," she said quickly, "I'll write and tell her, but I'm not holding my breath; she hardly even knows I'm interested in playing, working as long as she does..."

With a sniff, she started to walk off. Harry wanted to say something, but under the immediate circumstances, he didn't quite know what to say. He hoped, however, that Mrs. Dickinson would be able to bury the pain of the past at least for one afternoon and experience what would likely be her daughter's finest hour to date...


	11. Chapter 11

"You sure about this, Harry?" Derek asked him atop the steps to the owlery, "You've seen how upset she gets at..."

"She needs to be there, Derek; any parent should. I'd've given anything for my parents to see me in action, as I'm sure yours would as well if they were still here," Harry said firmly, "It's time she starts being a mother again-and she doesn't have to know this is from me."

He unrolled the parchment in his hand and read over the letter to Amaralda Dickinson he'd composed once more:

_Dear Mrs. Dickinson, _

_If you haven't heard by now, Emma has been accepted to the Slytherin Qudditch team and will be playing in Friday afternoon's game versus Gryffindor. I understand that you are a very busy woman, but it would mean the world to Emma if you were to be there to watch her in action. So please, for her sake, see if you can make the time to be there for her. She is a very talented Quidditch player, and I know she would make you proud if you were there to watch. _

_A Friend _

Nodding in satisfaction, he rolled it up and whistled for Hedwig. She swooped out of the owlery like a white falsh and landed on his hand. "Here you go, girl," he told her, pressing the parchment into her talons, "Take it to Amaralda Dickinson, wherever she works, but don't let her know I'm sending it. I'll have an extra reward for you for doing this, I promise."

He gently launched her into the sky, where she quickly flew into the clouds and out of sight. "One problem done-I hope," he mumbled to himself, "And now for the other," he turned to Derek, "passing you off as a halfway decent Quidditch player...and in the same frame help you get over that fear of heights..."

* * *

For once, Harry was glad that Wood was an almost obsessive Quidditch captain, for the intense training sessions Wood put the Gryffindor team through for the remainder of the week more than caught Derek up on the many points of the game. Although Harry wasn't completely confident yet, he felt enough so to relax a little.

In no time, it was Friday afternoon, and he and Derek stood nervously behind the Quidditch stadium, his friend now decked in the familiar red Gryffindor Quidditch uniform. "OK, are you ready?" he asked the Muggle.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Harry," Derek swallowed a nervous gulp, "Just promise I won't get killed up there."

"I'll do everything I can-Fred, George," Harry hailed the twins over as they stepped outside for a moment, "Keep Derek safe up there by any means you can."

"Oh you can count on us, Harry; he's as safe as a babe in his mother's arms," George said grandly, putting an arm around Derek, who did not look convinced.

"Make sure of it, you two. And Ron and Hermione will be in the stands too, watching everything, Derek, so they'll back us up in the clutch," Harry told him. He took a deep breath, "And in a way, be proud of yourself; you're about to do something that I'll wager no Muggle's ever done before."

"Well, I'm sure that...scat!" Derek waved wildly at a mosquito buzzing around his face, "I'm sure that I'll remember this one way or another for a long time to come, Harry."

"It's time, all of you, let's go," Wood stuck his head around the corner. With one final deep breath, Harry hefted his broom and followed the rest of his teammates into the stadium. A loud cheer rose up as they and the Slytherin team walked to the middle of the pitch. He could see Emma on the other sidelines, walking behind her teammates, who noticeably did not look back at her. He quickly scanned the crowd, but to his deep frustration did not see Mrs. Dickinson anywhere. "_Curse you_," he growled at her furiously in his mind, _"She's your only child! Well, maybe she's just running late, I hope..." _

The blast of Madame Hooch's whistle brought him back to the field. "All right, as before, I want a nice clean game from all of you," she firmly instructed all the players, "And for those of you who are playing this for the first time, good luck. Take your positions."

Harry straddled his broomstick and kicked off the ground with the rest of the players-Derek noticeably staying lower than everyone else. He glanced towards the Gryffindor section to where Ron and Hermione had said they'd be sitting. They noticed him and gave him a thumbs-up, their wands in hand. He returned the gesture, hoping wands would not have to be used in this match...

With a shrill whistle, the balls were released below him, and broomsticks started flashing everywhere below Harry. "And heeeeeeeeeere we goooooo!" came the magically amplified voice of Lee Jordan at the broadcasting position. "The Quaffle in the hands of the very talented Katie Bell to start it off, a nice dive low there, toss over the shoulder-intercepted by Flint, he's going for the breakaway...no, snatched out of his hands by Angelina Johnson, who just misses one of the Bludgers, and now she tosses it down to Gryffindor's new team member, Derek Whitesell, who dives toward the ground-rather lower than usual, although I suppose he's trying a new tactic...look out, here come Beaters Derrick and Bole...a double hard check, and the Quaffle goes flying...!"

"Fred, George, get with it!" Harry muttered under his breath. Somehow, he doubted that as a Muggle, Derek could take the punishment wizards could take. Fortunately, the twins finally came zooming down from out of the sky to take a defensive position around Derek. Fred in fact grabbed for the falling Quaffle, only to have Bole crack him hard in the hand with his Bludger bat. The Slytherin Beater used his broom to whack the Quaffle towards Flint, who roughly elbowed Angelina out of the way (unfortunately out of Madame Hooch's view in the rush of players) and tossed the ball past Wood for the first score of the game. Harry growled in frustration. This certainly wasn't the start he'd wanted.

But then something caught his attention down below in the stands. He squinted hard...yes, he saw with a smile, Amaralda Dickinson had arrived. True, she did look grumpy and miserable as she plopped down next to Snape in the stands, and gave an icy glance at Dumbledore a few rows back before turning her gaze to the game, but Harry didn't care how she felt; she'd made it, and that was all that mattered. "Good for you," he murmured softly to himself with a grin, glancing down and seeing Emma also noticing her mother was there with a surprised but delighted expression, "There's still hope for you, Mrs. Dickinson..."

"Harry, heads up, it's behind you!" came Wood's call. Harry spun in time to see a bright flash of gold streaking across the sky: the Snitch. He rocketed off after it...but Malfoy zoomed right in front of him, blocking his path. "Get out of my way!" he shouted.

"How about you get off my tail, Potter?" Malfoy abruptly stopped, and seconds later, Harry crashed hard into him and found himself spiraling towards the ground. He frantically pulled up on the handle and leveled out of the nosedive, but a glance over his shoulder showed Malfoy diving for the Snitch, which was easily within reach. Without thinking it over fully, he rocketed underneath the Snitch and zoomed up straight at Malfoy. _"This better work, or it won't be pretty...!"_ he begged in his mind.

Nearer and nearer the two of them came, the Snitch darting between them, almost as if tempting them to collide. Harry could hear the gasps of the crowd; they were expecting a crash. At the last minute, however, Malfoy, his face going white, jerked away. Harry did the same in the opposite direction and breathed a big sigh of relief. He glanced around for the Snitch, but it had vanished from sight. Oh well, he shrugged, it would return again...

But then, he was nailed from behind. "You cost me the Snitch, Potter!" Malfoy was furious, "There's a price to pay for that...shut up and mind your own business!" he barked down at Madame Hooch, who was blowing her whistle at him.

"You CANNOT attack the other team's Seeker when the Snitch is not in play!" she shouted at him, "Posession Gryffindor."

Malfoy looked furious as he zoomed away. Harry zipped up to a higher altitude, his eyes scanning the horizon for any further signs of the Snitch. As there was no sign of it, he turned back to the game below him-just in time to see Derek receive the Quaffle from Katie. Looking quite nervous, he flew towards the Slytherin goals, frantically dodged a Bludger as Fred and George assumed defensive positions alongside him. _"Just believe it yourself, Derek, and you can do it, I know you can_," Harry tried to inspire him in his mind, "_You can score this goal and put Slytherin's pureblood nonsense in the trash where it belongs." _

Still, he had his fingers crossed as Derek approached the central hoop. In goal, Miles Bletchley was growling as he raised his arms to deflect any shot. Derek hesitantly stood up, raised the Quaffle high, and tossed the ball...

...nowhere; it was a fake-out, although Bletchley was fooled and lurched to the right. In the split second the central goal was untended, Derek threw the Quaffle...

"YES!" Harry pumped his fist in delight; ten points for Gryffindor, and a huge strike against Salazar Slytherin's views on wizarding blood. He found himself applauding much like the rest of Gryffindor's cheering section as an amazed Derek let out a cry of success and took high fives from the twins...

...before a furious Flint came charging in and brutally checked Derek off his broom. "Oh no!" Harry gasped in horror. With a flash, he zoomed out of the sky, dodging players and balls, and with one final burst of speed, just managed to catch Derek inches off the ground. "You all right there!?" he asked worriedly.

"I think so," Derek mumbled through drawn lips and a white face, "Did I score?"

"You certainly did; that was one for the ages; George," Harry handed Derek up to him as he flew by, "Keep a tighter watch, please!"

"Will do, Harry," George zipped towards Derek's broom and lifted him back onto it. Harry glanced around the pitch and thought for a moment he saw a flash of gold near the stands, but a closer look showed it was only a pocket watch or something similar. He heaved himself back up to a higher altitude, listening to Lee's commentary continue all around him: "...Angelina with the Quaffle, around the Hufflepuff seating section, dodges Derrick...but here comes Bole, and she swerves sideways-and loses the Quaffle. Picked up by Flint...nearly smashed in the face by a Bludger; I wish that had been a full impact..."

"JORDAN!" came Professor McGonagall's shout over the entire pitch.

"Only kidding, Professor. Quaffle sinking towards the ground...here comes Dickinson with an underhand grab...no, Flint again, looks like he's trying to pull it out of her arms. Angry words being exchanged among the Slytherin Chasers; is there dissention in the ranks here? Derrick checks Dickinson hard from the other side, and Flint snatches the Quaffle away. Flint pushes Fred Weasley aside...no, maybe that's George...I don't know; anyway, Flint in on goal; Wood coming out to stop...what was that!?" Lee exclaimed as there was a flash of flame, and seconds later, Wood was frantically beating out fire from his uniform as Flint lowered his wand and tossed the ball through the unguarded net. Harry slapped the handle of his broomstick angrily; illegal use of magic by Flint, and apparently it hadn't been noticed by Madame Hooch, who was flying up to tend to Wood now as Flint seized the Quaffle again and scored two additional goals before Fred zipped up and blocked a fourth shot. He tossed it as hard he could towards Katie on the far end of the pitch...

...but Emma grabbed it in midair and zoomed back towards the Gryffindor goal. Again, a scowling Flint zoomed towards her and attempted to yank the Quaffle out of her hands, but this time she swung sideways out of his way, and, while still sideways, swung a tremendous throw that went past Wood for another score-then tore down like a comet, grabbed the ball again, and threw it almost blindly through another hoop before Wood could recover. Much as Harry hated to fall this far behind Slytherin, he was duly impressed; she really did have the talent to play professionally. On instinct, he turned back to the main stands...but noticed Mrs. Dickinson standing up and starting towards the aisle, purse in hand and apparently telling several teachers goodbye, he thought he saw her say. "_What are you doing!?"_ he thought furiously, _"The match isn't over yet; you've got to stay to the end for this to count!" _

"...Dickinson on a tear; a third impressive goal over the shoulder!" Lee's commentary brought him back to the game, "Why Slytherin didn't think of adding her before, I don't know. And now she's going for the Quaffle yet again...what is this; Malfoy grabbing the bat off Derrick and smacking a Bludger right at her, making her pull off; what's going on here? Why are the other Slytherin's so upset; she's singlehandedly given them a strong lead here? Dickinson undeterred apparently, still diving for the Quaffle-and Flint from above slamming into her, he's driving her down-into the ground. This is unreal-but what else do expect from the bullying, cheating players Slytherin always puts on the pitch..."

"JORDAN!"

"Again, just kidding, Professor. Quaffle up for grabs again, Angelina's got it, tosses it to Whitesell; he's looking a bit more confident now. Zips over the Bludger there, ducks a roundhouse right by Bole, there's the throw-past Bletchley again, and the score is now sixty to twenty for Slytherin...and is that the Snitch again...?"

Harry had seen it too, hovering above the Ravenclaw section now. He took a quick glance at Malfoy, who hadn't noticed it yet, but did a split second later. Harry quickly put on a burst of speed towards it...

...but came to a sudden stop as two additional figures on broomsticks started approaching the pitch-two figures who were certainly not players. "What is this now; who's this coming towards...uh oh!" Lee was quite worried now, and Harry felt the same: it was the Gavertsons, having somehow gotten past the mystic wall or whatever Dumbledore had put into place-and they were heading straight for Derek, oblivious to their presence. And one was pointing a wand straight at him. He glanced towards the Snitch; Malfoy had a bead on it now and might get it...but there was something more important than the game at stake now. He rapidly turned away from the Snitch and frantically dove in front of Derek, spun, and shouted, "_Protego_!" as loudly as he could, shielding the incoming Imperius Curse.

"Don't interrupt us, Potter, the child is ours!" Thoedoric snarled at him, "_Crucio_!"

Harry dodged this curse, which hit the top of the Slytherin grandstand and set it ablaze. To his relief, magical spells started raining into the sky from the stands, including a flurry of blasts from Hermione and Ron-and the rest of the Gryffindor team came alongside Harry and fired off more shielding charms in front of Derek. The Gavertsons, ducking numerous spells, were quickly forced to back off. And coming up from below, yes, Dumbledore had taken Madame Hooch's broomstick and was now rising up to the Death Eater's level. "You have no business here," he declared loudly to them, "Leave at once, or we shall..."

"Avada kedavra!" Theodoric fired a blast at him, which Dumbledore easily avoided. He raised his wand again, but his brother took hold of it. "We're outnumbered for now," Harry heard him say as he waved his brother off towards the way they'd come, "We know what we need to know now; the Dark Lord will..."

He was cut off as a blast from the teacher's section nearly knocked him off his broom. Both Death Eaters quickly zoomed off the field and out of sight, Dumbledore slowly following to make sure they weren't coming back. Loud applause rose up from all but the Slytherin stands. Harry breathed a tremendous sigh of relief: another abduction attempt thwarted. It was only too bad it had to come at the expense of the game...

"Get out of my way!" came Malfoy's angry shout from above him. He jerked up to see Emma was in from of him, blocking his path to the Snitch much as Malfoy had done to Harry earlier in the match. "You'll suffer like you can't imagine if you don't move...!" he warned her furiously.

"Not until Harry's back in the hunt so it's a fair contest," was her equally furious retort; clearly she'd reached the breaking point with her team trying to suppress her-and for that Harry couldn't blame her at all. It was time to win it fairly. He zoomed up towards the darting golden ball. True to her word, Emma peeled off once Harry was level with Malfoy, who tried furiously to bump him away. Neck and neck they raced for the Snitch, their fingers groping for it, approaching one of the hoops on the Slytherin end. The Snitch zipped through the hoop...

...and Harry, without really thinking it through, somersaulted over the top of the hoop and just managed to grab hold of the Snitch. Flushed with delight, he quickly grabbed hold of his broom again as the loud thump of Malfoy crashing into the hoop at full speed rang out behind him. His adversary slid down the pole to the ground, his groan drowned out by the excited cheers of the Gryffindor team as they swarmed around him, victors once more. "We did it!" Derek was particularly happy as he gave Harry a strong high five.

"You did it too, Derek; congratulations," Harry grinned at him, "You did so great with that goal."

He gave Derek's hair a strong rubbing and accepted high fives from his teammates as well...but then his gaze fell outside the pitch, where Amaralda Dickinson was walking away from the stadium, apparently paying no attention to what was going on behind her. Harry's rage bubbled up again. Even though it appeared Snape was with her and talking with her, he didn't care what the Potions master might say. With his teammates' attention distracted, he zoomed out of the stadium until he in front of Mrs. Dickinson and Snape. In a flash he lowered himself to the ground in front of them. "Where do you think you're going, Mrs. Dickinson!?" he demanded curtly at her.

"Back to the office for your information, young man," she was curt as well once she recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance, "I have lots of work still to do..."

"You left before the match even ended!" he was getting very hot under the collar, "Emma was counting on you to...!"

"You watch your tongue, Potter," it was Snape's turn to get curt, "Mrs. Dickinson is a very important witch, and you are risking more than points from Gryffindor..."

"I don't care!" Harry snapped at Snape, "She's your daughter, damn it!" he upbraided Mrs. Dickinson, "I don't care how busy you are, you should stay to the end for your child! I would give anything to have had my parents watch me play...!"

"And after what they did, they deserved what they got!" Mrs. Dickinson unexpectedly snapped at him, "And it's clear you're just as arrogant and unhinged to the core as they were, Potter!"

"And what is THAT supposed to mean!?" he was confused as well as infuriated now.

"Oh, I guess Emma never told you..."

"Allow me, Amaralda," a dark grin was spreading on Snape's face, "It's time you learned the cold truth, Potter," he smarmily turned to Harry, "It's your parents' fault that Tiberius Castlebert is dead."


	12. Chapter 12

"Wh-What are you saying!?" Harry exclaimed, his insides doing horrible somersaults now.

"I'll tell you exactly what I'm saying, Potter," Snape leaned very close to him with a murderous expression, "Your father was assigned by the Order to protect Tiberius Castlebert. He abandoned his post in a moment of gross dereliction and allowed Tiberius to be murdered. I had asked for the assignment, but he insisted on having it, and regretted it almost immediately."

"It's...it's not true...!"

"It's absolutely true," Mrs. Dickinson was looking him murderously as well, "Your father failed miserably, rushing off to your mother because he foolishly thought she was being attacked by the Death Eaters. He fell for the oldest trick in the book, and my life has been a living hell ever since without..."

There was a flash of extreme emotional agony on her face as the loss of her fiancé was dragged out for her again. Harry's head was spinning at the horrible revelations. "But...but...if he was sorry..." he stammered for something to say.

"Sorry can't bring back Tiberius, Potter, and it won't redeem your dear daddy for embarrassing himself, the Order, and everyone he ever knew," Snape growled furiously at him, "And who knows, if you and your mother hadn't been there for him to abandon his post for," he was white with a carnal rage now, as if something deep was gnawing at him too, "Maybe he wouldn't have died as a worthless failure..."

"Don't say that...!" Harry's blood pressure was starting to boil now as well.

"You'd better hear it and face the truth, Potter; Tiberius Castlebert's dead because you were there for your father to be tricked into abandoning his post for!" Snape all but screamed, "So many people gone because of you, in fact," he seemed on the verge of tears for a moment, Harry thought, before the sadness disappeared under pure fury, "Face it, Potter, the whole wizarding world would be better off if you were never born!"

"I SAID DON'T SAY THAT!" without thinking, Harry drew his wand and pointed it right at Snape...

"Harry, no, don't!" Hermione's cry from behind snapped him out of it before he could do anything. She and Ron were quickly running up. "Harry, you can't...!"

"Don't stop him if he wants to do it, Miss Granger; go ahead, Potter, if you want to do something to me, go right ahead and do it," Snape pressed Harry coldly. Harry maintained a grip on his wand, aiming it at Snape's face-but then lowered it. "You're not worth it," he growled at the Potions master, "And you," he turned to Mrs. Dickinson, "If you want to leave, go ahead then; you're not worth anything as a mother if you won't stay for Emma..."

"I showed up, Potter; what more do you want from me? I'm a busy woman, and I've done my part. Severus, let's go," Mrs. Dickinson started walking off with Snape, who turned as he was going and snapped, "And by the way, that's one hundred points from Gryffindor for threatening a teacher, Potter."

Harry roared and raised the wand again. "Harry, please!" Hermione grabbed hold of it, "Like you said, he's not worth it!"

"Neither of them are worth it," Ron chimed in, "If the old cow doesn't care for her daughter, let her waste her life, Harry. Slytherins are all beyond hope, from parent to child..."

"You know, I'm getting tired of your attitude towards Emma, Ron!" Harry wheeled on him, making Ron jump backwards in shock, "You're acting just as prejudiced as Malfoy is when she hasn't done anything wrong, doesn't share Voldemort or Slytherin's prejudices, and helped us win the match in a way!"

"But...she's a Slytherin; you can't..." Ron mumbled weakly, stunned.

"Harry's right, Ron; you're taking this too far," it was Hermione's turn to glare furiously at him, which made Ron lower his head in humiliation, "You're acting just like Malfoy with..."

"Harry," it was Neville running up, looking surprised, "Harry, why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm kind of busy right now, Neville...wait, tell us what?" Harry didn't like the look on Neville's face.

"About Derek. Do you know how much there's going to be to pay for bringing a Muggle to Hogwarts if the Ministry finds out, like they probably will now?"

"Wait, how did you find...!?" Harry then noticed Neville was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, one that looked very fresh. And then his mind flashed back to right before the match...the mosquito Derek had swatted at...

_Rita... _

Horror spreading, he seized the paper off Neville. "They were all delivered to the stadium seconds ago," Neville explained, "Almost as if they wanted everyone to know..."

Harry couldn't hear him, his eyes wide in fear as he read the front page article, which confirmed his worst fears:

_HARRY POTTER SHELTERING MUGGLE AT HOGWARTS _

_A SPECIAL BREAKING EXCLUSIVE BY RITA SKEETER _

_The famous Boy who lived, recently seen disturbing the peace in London, has now taken a step further into the unforgiveable-letting a Muggle see the wizarding world. Making his debut today in Quidditch at Hogwarts is one Derek Whitesell-a Muggle who has been seen in Potter's presence the last week. A quick search of wizarding genealogy confirms Whitesell is not a wizard at all. _

_Potter has used subterfuge to try and legitimize young Master Whitesell, passing him off as a relative of the Weasley family. This reporter was never fooled by this ruse and suspected something was amiss. In-depth reporting has now confirmed Whitesell's heritage, which given the circumstances means Potter is guilty of the gravest crime a witch or wizard can commit- the deliberate blowing of our entrenched secrecy. And it stands to reason Albus Dumbledore was complicit in this deception as well, to..._

Harry couldn't read anymore; it was all too horrifying. "Oh my god," Hermione was just as horrified, reading over his shoulder, "If the Prophet was delivered this quickly, Harry, the Ministry's probably on its way here right now..."

"I know, I know!" Harry snapped, trying to think of how to get out of this one, "OK, OK, we've got to get Derek out of here somehow," he turned to her and Ron, "Find him and find some place to hide him; I'll try and find Dumbledore, I hope, and see what he thinks..."

"And if the Ministry shows up before that...Harry!" Ron called to him as he started running back towards the stadium.

"I'll try and stall them, just get Derek safely out of here, to the Forbidden Forest if you have to!" he called desperately over his shoulder, hoping they weren't already too late.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost stumbled into a large hole that had been dug in the ground. Catching himself in time, he glanced ahead and saw the other end near the stadium. So THAT had been how the Gavertson brothers had gotten through whatever protection Dumbledore had set up, he realized as he continued running again. But he had more important things to handle at the moment...

As he neared the entrance to the stadium, however, he heard a low scream from underneath-Emma's scream, followed by an angry shout that was unmistakably Malfoy's. He quickly turned to the right and saw Goyle and Grabbe holding a bleeding Emma still behind one of the pillars. "Draco, stop; you can't do this...!" she was pleading.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" an angry Malfoy roared at her, firing off another hex that cut her face. "No, I'm not stopping!" he shouted at her, "I warned you there'd be a price to pay if you cost us the match, and now you're going to pay it like you can't believe! SECTUMSEMPRA!" he bellowed again, cutting her arm this time, SEC-!"

"MALFOY, STOP IT!" Harry bellowed furiously at his adversary, who stopped and turned. "Mind your own business, Potter," he warned him darkly, "What I do to her is none of your concern."

"It is now, Malfoy," Harry advanced towards him, "Leave her alone."

"No, Potter, she has this coming, and so do you when I'm done with her. Now get lost," Malfoy turned away from him and raised his wand again, "SECTUM-!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" the words exploded out of Harry's mouth as he raised his wand and fired. Malfoy immediately went flying backwards, his wand flying out of his hands...

"POTTER!" came the voice of the last person Harry wanted to hear behind him-Umbridge. His heart in his mouth, he turned to see her with Fudge and several Aurors, her hands on her hips. "Uh, why are you...?" he tried to feign ignorance.

"Minister, you've got here just in time," Malfoy jumped back quickly to his feet, "Look what Potter did to her," he pointed to Emma, who immediately opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly seized up, unable to speak, and Harry could see Goyle wand to the back of her head. He'd hit her with a silencing hex, he realized with a sinking heart. "I came around the corner and saw Potter attacking her," Malfoy continued lying, "I tried to stop him; he's insane, he just tried to kill me..."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, we'll take that into consideration along with everything else we know Potter's done," Fudge gave Harry a murderous glare, "You're coming with us, Potter; it's Azkaban for you for breaking the code of secrecy."

"Wait, let me explain the whole story," Harry pleaded, "We had to bring Derek here, or...!"

"We don't need the whole story, Potter, you're guilty as sin either way," Umbridge seized his arm roughly and started dragging him away, "Now where's the Muggle?"

"I don't know...oow, I swear I don't know!" he protested as she gripped his arm harder, hoping Ron and Hermione had gotten Derek to safety by now.

"You'll talk, Potter," she told him darkly, "We'll find him."

"And what are you going to do to him!? Derek's not a threat; he wouldn't...!"

"WE'LL make the decision on that, Potter. Dumbledore," Fudge glowered as the headmaster came striding towards them with a concerned look. "May I ask why Dolores appears to be manhandling Harry at the moment, Cornelius?" he asked the Minister of Magic softly but firmly.

"Perhaps I can ask about THIS, Albus," Fudge thrust a copy of the incriminating Prophet into Dumbledore's face, "I can only guess that you've been complicit with Potter in this as well..."

"Listen, you don't understand!" Harry shouted desperately, "The Death Eaters were after Derek; they were going to...!"

"THERE IS NO MORE VOLDEMORT, POTTER!" Fudge bellowed at him, "He was defeated, and he's never coming back! The fact you insist on repeating this dangerous lie shows your words can't be trusted."

"What I see, Cornelius, is stubborn believe in a fallacy that makes you feel superior," Dumbledore shook his head softly, "And I assure you that everything that was done for young Master Whitesell was for his benefit."

"There, that's a confession," Umbridge pointed triumphantly at the headmaster, "Dumbledore admitted he was in on it, Cornelius. And for the record, Dumbledore," she glared in his face, "You're going to Azkaban too; we've found using prior incantato that it was YOU that broke into the Department of Mysteries last week and stole items from the section dealing with love. It was clearly your wand, so you can't deny it!"

"Very well, I won't then," Dumbledore shrugged nonchalantly, "Yes, I did sneak inside and take some items-but as Harry has tried to say, all for the Whitesell boy's protection..."

"Yes, we see, Dumbledore; you're willing to sacrifice everything for Muggle who should know nothing about what we do," Fudge snapped at him, "Well no matter how you spin it, the fact is, Potter has just broke the most important law in the wizarding world," he turned his glare to Harry, "Exposing us to Muggles. And nothing you say or do is going to save him from the prison term he's got waiting for him."

"But wait, I have to have a trial...!" Harry protested furiously.

"With an ironclad case like this, you don't need or deserve a trial, Potter!" Umbridge barked at him, "And if Dumbledore tries to stop us or break you or, it'll be at least fifty years for him. So don't try and stop us," she all but dared Dumbledore.

"You must do what you feel is right as Minister of Magic, Cornelius," Dumbledore turned calmly to the Minister of Magic, "However, I should warn you that sending Harry to Azkaban at this juncture will prove to be the biggest mistake of your tenure if you choose it. Once the full truth comes out, I daresay the rest of the wizarding world will see you as unfit to hold the office if this is the path you choose."

"And that sounds like a threat to me, Dumbledore," Fudge thrust an accusing finger in the headmaster's face, "Threatening the Minister of Magic is treason. You're going to Azkaban with Potter. Hand over your wand now."

"If you insist, Cornelius," Dumbledore extended his wand forward...seconds before the same blinding flash of light that Hermione had conjured a few days ago exploded all around. Harry shielded his eyes and tried to run for it...

"_Petrificus totalus_!" came Umbridge's shout, and he suddenly seized up, hit with the Full Body Bind. Umbridge's hands jerked him back up, immobilized, as the light faded. You're not going anywhere, Potter, it's...where is he!?" she shouted, glancing around. For Dumbledore had vanished completely in the confusion.

"He must have Apparated away. He won't get far, Dolores, we'll find...and here he is," Fudge's expression turned dark again. Harry's heart sank to see a squad of Aurors dragging Derek, Hermione, and Ron forward, all of them struggling to get away. "Minister, we caught them by the broomstick shed trying to snatch some brooms and get away," one of the Aurors explained.

"Sorry, Harry, we tried...Harry, what do they do to you!?" Ron gasped to see him in the Full Body Bind.

"Shut up, Weasley, Potter got what he deserved," Umbridge snarled at him, "And by the way, it stands to reason your practically half-breed father was in on this too; find Arthur Weasley and arrest him for conspiracy in exposing us," she ordered another Auror.

"No, please, my father doesn't know anything!" Ron begged, horrified, and Harry felt much the same. If Mr. Weasley suffered because of this...

"We said shut up! So you're the Muggle who knows too much," Fudge glared down at Derek, who looked fearful himself, "Well you won't know anything when we get through with you."

"Just leave him alone; he's not going to tell anyone anything!" Hermione shouted bravely, "Wiping his mind won't...!"

"What we do to the Muggle is none of your concern, you Muggle-born wench," Fudge snarled coldly at her, making her sputter in rage. "This school is now under Ministry control," he announced to all the Aurors, "Lock it down; Dolores, you're in charge once you take Potter to Azkaban," he instructed Umbridge, "Do whatever you wish, but purge everyone's minds of the Muggle."

"I will," she nodded grimly, "And the Muggle himself?" she pointed to Derek.

"We'll take care of him. Lock them in the dungeons-in separate cells," Fudge ordered the Aurors, who started dragging Derek, Ron and Hermione off, "No contact with any other students. If they try to escape, they join Potter in Azkaban. Get rid of him, Dolores," he gestured at Umbridge.

"Of course, Minister. Let's go, Potter," Umbridge started dragging him off, "You've got a cell in Azkaban waiting for the rest of your life..."


	13. Chapter 13

Being completely Petrified, Harry could offer no resistance as Umbridge hauled him roughly towards the Hogwarts cemetery, pausing only briefly to mutter, "_Portus_," and zap one of the headstones-she was creating a Portkey to Azkaban, Harry surmised. He had hoped to never see the inside on the terrible place, but it appeared he was about to as Umbridge touched the headstone. The world went all colorful, and Harry had the feeling of being sucked down through space for about a minute before the two of them landed with a thud on a hard outcropping of rock. The roar of waves crashing on rocks surrounded Harry. He could see they were on a desolate island well out in the sea. And above him loomed the grim stone walls of Azkaban. It looked just as somber and soulless as he'd so often heard.

He didn't have much time to take it in, as Umbridge was dragging him towards a massive iron door at the base of the prison. "Summon Swims; I want a special word with him on this one," she ordered a Dementor on duty at the gate. With a small, imperceptible nod, the Dementor glided away out of sight. A second one on duty extended its hand towards the gate, which slowly inched upwards with a deep grating sound. Even from outside, Harry could hear horrible, insane cries inside the prison. Now he could fully appreciate the horror Sirius had gone through for so long...

He was yanked across the threshold into what appeared to be the central atrium of the prison. "Ah, Dolores, what a present surprise," came an oily voice to the right that Harry thought sounded somewhat familiar. A decrepit, hunched-over old wizard was shuffling towards them, a cruel look on his face. "And the famous Harry Potter," he sneered coldly at him, "I'd been expecting you to show up here some day. Charonius Swims, Warden of Azkaban Prison," he gave a mocking bow, "So, I hear you've let a Muggle into the wizarding world. I'd say that call for a good long stretch here, don't you Dolores?"

"Indeed, Swims; he's to have an indefinite term in here, by the Minister's orders," Umbridge shoved Harry towards Swims, "Here's his wand," she handed it to the warden, "No visitors for him without the Minister's personal consent, keep an extra Dementor guard on him to avoid escape, feed him at your discretion."

"Sounds good to me. Let's go, young man," Swims dragged Harry down a long row of cells from inside which terrible cries were ringing out. The cellblock seemed to stretch into the far distance; the prison had to be magically enchanted to hold more people inside than the outer architecture would hint, Harry surmised.

"Welcome to my world, Potter, the wonderful world of penal corrections," Swims was saying out loud, almost bragging, "Seventeen years I've been in charge here, and I've dedicated myself to make sure those who break the law pay for their crimes appropriately. After all, they can't feel sorry for what they've done if they don't pay a price and suffer for it. Sure, they may say I'm harsh sometimes, but it's nothing some wizards don't do-and if they end up coming in here, then they deserve it in my book. And here we are."

He stopped by an unoccupied cell, perhaps jokingly ironic that it was Number 666, and tossed Harry inside it, slamming the door shut behind him. A low hum hinted at the door being locked magically. It was only then that Swims fired at Harry and released him from the Full Body Bind. Harry immediately rushed the bars. "Let me out of here!" he demanded to Swims, shaking the bars hard, "You can't hold me here like this without...!"

Swims abruptly grabbed hold of him by the rear collar. _"Crucio_!" the warden shouted, jamming his wand into Harry's ribs, and sending the most horrific pain imaginable coursing through his body. Swims held the curse for a full minute before releasing Harry. "You see, Potter, people have to learn respect in here," he snickered arrogantly, "Within these walls, I am God, and my subjects better treat me as such."

"Do whatever you want to him to make him realize that, Swims; you'll have the Ministry's approval for it," Umbridge leaned over the warden's shoulder.

"Understood, Dolores," Swims nodded coldly, "Do you want me to give the Muggle in question a one-over or two before you...?"

"No, I don't think we'll go THAT far, Swims. But send an extra Dementor or two to Hogwarts tomorrow afternoon," Umbridge told him, "We'd better make absolutely sure the Muggle won't tell anyone about us."

Harry's heart froze at what she was insinuating. "You can't!" he shouted again, half-jumping against the bars, "You can't have those monsters suck Derek's soul out! He's not a...!"

Swims made a loud clicking gesture to his right, and suddenly one of the Dementors zoomed up to the bars and started sucking. Harry found himself shaking fearfully as his parents' cries rang out in his head once more-Voldemort was coming for them, and him, and they were about to die...he had to stop it somehow...

"That's enough," Swims spoke up, and he was laughing hard, as if he found the attack hilarious. Harry's mind started clearing as the Dementor glided away. "You see, cause a ruckus on my watch, Potter, and you'll be seeing my friends here a lot," Swims was still laughing, "They're quite effective, and keep the populace in here nicely in check-well, looks like another guest arriving at the Hotel Swims," he turned his attention to the left, "Bring him this way, O'Doone, but don't put him on the cellblock with Potter."

"Please, I haven't done anything!" it was Mr. Weasley. Harry felt horribly guilty deep down to see Ron's father dragged before his cell, looking a white as some of the Hogwarts ghosts. In a way, he reasoned, it was his fault Mr. Weasley was in this mess; if he hadn't brought Derek to the hotel..."

"Sorry, but I ain't buying it; innocent people don't come here, Arthur," Swims told him smarmily, "And knowing how close you are to Potter..."

"I met the Muggle child yes, but I don't...!" Mr. Weasley protested.

"Let him go!" Harry pressed himself against the bars, the guilt getting worse, "Lock me up if you want, but he has a family; he's...!"

"He's as much a blood traitor as you are for conspiring to bring the Muggle into our midst," Umbridge snapped coldly at him, "So Swims, have the Dementors work him over good," she ordered the warden, "He's practically a half-breed Squib anyway..."

"DON'T YOU CALL HIM THAT!" Harry screeched at the top of his lungs, furious.

"Harry, it's all right, I'll be OK," Mr. Weasley tried to calm him, but Harry could see the fear in the man's eyes as he was led away.

"Oh I know it, Arthur, because if you try to escape, your entire half-Mudblood family'll join you in here," Swims called condescendingly to him as O'Doone shoved him towards a group of Dementors. "Oh, by the way, O'Doone, before I forget," he waved his adjutant back over, "I have some important business to attend to tonight, I've found out, so you'll be in charge for a few hours; should be back by dawn at the latest."

"OK, if you say so, sir," O'Doone nodded, "Oh, and if it's OK, the Prophet send Rita over; she's waiting outside..."

"Not anymore," came Rita's disgustingly cheery voice getting closer. Harry's blood pressure spiked again. "I'm not talking to her," he growled turning his back to the bars.

"Well unfortunately for you, Harry, I'm not leaving until I do get an interview, and clearly you're not going anywhere," Rita all but sang as she arrived in front of his cell, "Now, for the benefit of all my readers, why did you do it?"

"Get out, now," he growled under his breath without turning around.

"Come now, Harry, I'd hate to have to tell everyone reading my work that you refused to offer an explanation for why you broke the biggest law in the wizarding world..."

"The biggest law!?" it was taking all his self-control to keep from snapping, "I'd say murdering someone in cold blood such as Voldemort did to my parents is much worse than exposing us to one measly Muggle, Rita. Which, if you have any sense of actual justice, you'll look into Umbridge here, and why she wants to all but kill Derek to keep the secret and suck his soul out...!"

"I said no such thing," Umbridge declared with a sinister grin, "He's lying again, Rita, just like he always has."

"YOU are the liar!" Harry couldn't control himself anymore, "You think having an official title gives you a...don't you dare write anything!" he warned Rita, placing her Quick-Quotes Quill against her parchment, "I'm warning you, Skeeter...!"

"That's all I need to know, Harry," she was grinning, "You threatened a Ministry official and tried to infringe on freedom of the press..."

In a flash, Harry rushed forward again, grabbed the Quick-Quote Quill off the parchment, and snapped it clean in two. "GET OUT!" he roared furiously, grabbing Rita by the collar and shaking her hard, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, RITA; YOU'VE BEEN TAILING DEREK FROM THE START; YOU WANTED TO EXPOSE ANYTHING OUT OF HIM TO GET SOMETHING ON ME...!"

"I was only following my journalistic instincts, Harry, that something wasn't right with him, and it looks like I was right," she remained calm, "Swims, a little help, please?"

"YOUR NOT GETTING AWAY WITH...!" Harry was stopped as suddenly two Dementors were in his face. He tried to backpedal, but they started sucking in unison. In seconds, Harry was overwhelmed with his parents' terrible final moments again, their frightened cries and Voldemort's cold voice all around him as he spiraled down into nothingness.

* * *

When he came to, he was lying on the floor of his cell. How much time had passed, he had no idea, and there was probably no way to know; the outside hallway was just as dark and gloomy as it had been when he'd been brought in in the afternoon. He suspected that time moved just as slowly for everyone else in the prison, with no reference points. No wonder it was said that many prisoners ended up going mad.

He felt terrible as he lurched back to the rear and the cell and slumped down on the bunk. Even though Rita was indeed guilty of exposing Derek's presence in the wizarding world, it felt like everything else was his fault. Now Derek stood in grave danger of death if Umbridge acted through on what she'd hinted...and his best friends were locked up themselves...the school was back to being a Ministry vassal-likely meaning a lot of the students would now not be allowed to go home to their families for the holidays, as well it should have been...Mr. Weasley was locked up himself...Dumbledore was on the run and likely to join them in this godforsaken place if he were caught...Voldemort still very much at large and able to do whatever he was planning...

"All my fault," he rued to himself, trying to fight back tears, "All because I wanted something better for my only Muggle friend. And now everyone else is suffering. And Emma lost her father because my...was Snape right? Would everything really have been better if I were never born...?"

It didn't seem as easy an answer anymore. Miserable, he stared blankly at the wall in front of himself, not paying attention to the shrieks of other tortured souls locked up in the prison, until finally, somehow, he managed to drift off to sleep...

* * *

...and was soon standing in the familiar cavern again, the snake coiled at his feet, as dozens of robed and masked figures were Apparating in front of him. "Welcome again, my dear family, and a happy holiday to you all, for what it is worth," he greeted them almost lazily, "So much we have yet to do-but, it appears, much less time to do it in," he was scowling now, "For I do not have what I have requested, Gaspard, Theodoric..."

"Only through a twist of bad fate," Theodoric spoke up as he and his brother stepped forward, But positively, my Lord, we have discovered the secret of the defenses Dumbledore has put up. They can be simply breached..."

"I see," Harry mused softly, "And yet you still do not have the Muggle child with you, which you have both sworn you would do for me for the last week..."

"We were outnumbered at the Quidditch match, my Lord, but the point is, Dumbledore stole love-based aritfacts from the Department of Mysteries to create a protective wall or dome over the school," Theodoric said with a nervous twinge in his voice, "It can be burrowed under, though; with superior numbers..."

"That will be all, Theodoric," Harry cut in, a thin smile crossing his lips, "You have served your purpose well enough. Come forward; I shall give you a reward."

"Yes, my Lord," Theodoric approached, "The child will be..."

"The child you still failed to get," in a flash, Harry drew his wand, pointed it at Theodoric, and shouted, "_Avada kedavra_!" as loud as he could, prompting a bright green flash. "THEODORIC!" Gaspard cried, rushing forward, but his brother had already hit the floor of the cavern, dead. "My Lord, he's...!" he tried to protest, tears starting to form in his eyes.

"_Crucio!"_ Harry coldly zapped him with the painful curse, leaving him writhing in agony on the floor. "He got what he deserved, Gaspard," he told his underling coldly, "I gave you far more chances to fulfill my orders than I probably should have, and the both of you repeatedly failed. Or were you even trying in the first place? Yes, I know the story, Gaspard," he released the curse and leaned close to the man, "I've done my research on the Gavertson family once you and he starting failing me. One of your uncles had an affair with a Muggle apparently. So it appears you and Theodoric were working a conflict of interest."

"My Lord, it is not true!" Gaspard begged fearfully, "Theodoric and I were full Purebloods; we have only been loyal servants to you...!"

"I think not. Your family is not pure and hasn't been since that moment. You failed me because the two of you were protecting the Muggle."

"How can you say that, my Lord; we've killed more of the vermin than many of these...!"

"Lucius, my friend," Harry turned towards the circle, "You were there with the Gavertsons when they went along to murder Tiberius Castlebert. Wasn't their role in that mission smaller than they claimed?"

"Yes...yes my Lord, it most certainly was," Lucius stepped forward, his voice slick and conniving behind his mask, "I myself fired the final curse that killed him; Gaspard and his brother merely stood in the background and watched while the rest of us carried out your orders."

"That is a lie, Lucius; you know Theodoric and I were equal partners in the mission!" Gaspard pleaded desperately, "Why are you trying to claim...!?"

"Oh yes, my Lord, Lucius speaks the truth," it was Wormtail speaking now, stepping forward himself, "In fact, I swear I heard he and his brother talking over in private how many Mudbloods they could save from you if they were just crafty enough."

"That's a lie as well, Pettigrew; you never heard anything that...!"

"Enough, traitor," Harry zapped him with the Cruciatus Curse again, "Your wand, please, Gaspard," he extended his hand.

"No my Lord, please; I have remained loyal to you from the very...!"

"Your wand please, Gaspard," Harry said very firmly, thrusting his hand in the man's face, "You have proven you are not a true wizard, so you have no right to carry one."

Dozens of other Death Eaters in the circle aimed their wands at Gaspard as well. With a weak sob, he reluctantly handed Harry his wand. "Very good," Harry told him dismissively, pocketing it, "Nagini, you may eat," he told his snake, who slithered forward and began consuming Theodoric's corpse.

"Let me kill the traitor now, my Lord," Bellatrix stepped forward, her own wand raised, "I'll do you the pleasure of..."

"Not at the moment, Bellatrix. Mr. Gavertson may still have one more useful role to play for us," Harry waved her off, "First, though, we must determine how best to get through Dumbledore's defenses..."

"If I may, my Lord," it was Lucius again, "I know well how the Ministry thinks; if what we've heard is indeed true, it's possible they may help our cause without us having to do a thing."

"You speak of Dumbledore's departure and the Ministry's seizure of the school," Harry looked deep into Lucius's eyes, "Yes, of course, they in their foolishness will help us. And of course, there is the other matter at hand. Charonius, my friend," he looked at the far end of the line of Death Eaters, "It is my understanding that Potter is now in your custody?"

"Yes indeed, my Lord," the hunched-over figure on the end ambled forward, "And I can think of no better Christmas present for you than to...no you don't, traitor!" he jumped towards Gaspard, desperately trying to crawl away, "_Crucio!" _

The spell zapped loudly and brightly, making Gaspard scream in pure agony. Hundreds of miles away, Harry bolted upright, sweating. He was in worse danger than he'd realized, he knew with horror, if Swims was a Death Eater too. Yes, of course, he thought back, it had been Swims he'd stopped from killing the Muggles on Downing Street. Come to think of it, he realized further, thisperfectly explained how the imprisoned Death Eaters were able to escape Azkaban once Voldemort had returned...Swims had let them out...

He started pounding hard at the solid stone walls, desperate to get out somehow, especially with Gaspard's screams still ringing in his ears. Then he realized it wasn't Gaspard; someone was screaming insanely and running around a level or so above him. He rushed to the front of the bars and glanced up, but could hardly see anything in the darkness-except of course for the ominous sight of a pair of Dementors flanking his cell, no doubt the extra guard on him Umbridge had requested. No soon had he squinted up into the darkness to try and make anything out then there came a pair of loud pops. "Terrific, leave for just a few hours...!" Swims was back, but there was another figure with him. Harry flattened himself against the wall out of the warden's sight, watching Swims walking to the base of an iron staircase nearby, and stood still, waiting, as the screams got louder; the person was getting closer. "This is what I hate about this job, Macnair," he turned to the man behind him, "As I'm sure you do when you destroy crazed beasts: when they snap and go crazy on you. Oh well, a job's a job..."

He raised his wand as a wild-eyed wizard in ragged robes half-stumbled down the stairs, shrieking insanely. "Crucio!" the warden shouted, pouring the curse on full blast even once the escaped prisoner was down on his back for over a minute. He then made the clicking sound again, and Harry held his breath as seemingly dozens of Dementors, including the ones standing guard by him, rocketed towards the escaped prisoner and started sucking hard. Within a minute, the prisoner went silent, his soul sucked out. "Maggen, huh?" Swims mused out loud. "O'Doone," he called out loud as his assistant came running up out of the darkness, "It's Maggen the shrinking cauldron salesman. Tell the family he got out and threw himself off the roof, then burn the corpse and dump the ashes in the sea."

"As you wish, Mr. Swims," O'Doone could be heard grunting as he hefted the body, "Oh, hello Mr. Macnair; fancy seeing you here."

"He brought a little something to my attention, O'Doone, so when you're done, send an urgent message to Scrimgeour; tell him I'd like about a hundred or so Aurors here for the next forty-eight hours or so. Macnair feels Dumbledore might try and break Potter out; I want him to be met with everything the Ministry's got if he tries."

"Uh, OK, will do sir," O'Doone called as he dragged the lifeless body away. "This way, we cover the bases, Macnair," Swims mumbled softly to his fellow Death Eater, "Since He said he wants all the Dementors on the island while the ceremony takes place, we're still covered here, and nobody escapes. If they ask questions why our shadowy friends deserted the prison, we don't even have to have an answer; as long as nobody escapes, they won't ask too many questions."

"I guess it'll work, Swims," Macnair seemed open to the plan.

"Well, while we're here, let's check on our famous friend here," came Swims' voice. Harry quickly dove back onto the bunk and turned his face to the wall as the warden and Macnair approached. "Potter in Azkaban, who'd've thought it?" the latter mused out loud.

"And of course, the best part is, I get the honor of turning him over to the Dark Lord in person," Swims all but bragged, "Now don't you worry about it, Macnair, I'll give you equal credit for it," he said quickly, presumably in response to a glare from his colleague.

"You'd better, Charonius," Macnair growled.

"Trust me. A half hour from now, we take him out, tell the rest of the wizards on staff here he's being transferred to London for a hearing, and deliver him over to the Dark Lord. Once he finally offs Potter, we tell the idiots at the Ministry he's dead, and maybe they'll be so grateful, they'll step aside and let us take over without a fight."

He cackled maniacally. "Oh, I love this job," he said happily, rubbing his hands together.

"I'm sure you do, Charonius," Macnair snorted, "I know you had Thaddeus Devlin killed in here. He'd been my best friend among our colleagues..."

"You think I had a choice, Macnair? Devlin was growing a conscience; he was going to squeal that I'd been with him in the group that killed Tiberius Castlebert. I'm not giving up what I've got going here in this prison for anything, so it was a simple matter of having the Dementors suck his soul out in the middle of the night, then arranging it to make it look like he grabbed O'Doone's wand while he was walking past his cell and blew his brains out. Since there's at least a suicide a month in here, no one asked any questions, and with no family, no one demanded an investigation, so in the end I lost nothing."

"You're crazy, Charonius."

"And the Dark Lord appreciates that, _Walden_," the warden told him off, "You know, if you hadn't been able talk your way out of trouble after he momentarily lost his powers when he first crossed paths with Potter, I could have easily arranged it for you to escape, just like I let Mulciber, Rookwood, and the others escape after the Dark Lord returned, so don't treat me like trash; I'm really a Death Eater's best friend in here."

"Perhaps in that instance you're right, Charonius," Macnair conceded this. After a pause, he continued, "I'm nonetheless surprised at you; Rosier told me right before he was killed that you fired the final curse that killed Tiberius Castlebert that night. Why did you sit back and let Lucius take all the credit just now?"

"All part of the game, Macnair, all part of the game," Swims said confidently, "Sooner or later, Lucius is going to stumble himself, and then I'll swoop in and clear the record, and be rewarded with a close spot at the Dark Lord's right hand, I just know it. You have to wait till the prey stumbles, Macnair, so you bide your time. High and mighty Malfoy plays the game himself, as you and I saw, but he doesn't understand all of it like I do. And to bring down a wealthy, powerful fool like him'll really feel good. Besides, now that the Gavertsons are out of the picture, once Lucius goes down, I'll be the only member of that attack unit left, so no one'll take away the honors from me then."

He laughed coldly again. "You know, Macnair, I really should have had petitioned to have Castlebert's daughter thrown in here as well," he continued as he and Macnair started walking away, "You saw in the museum how she's practically a Mudblood herself, standing up for Potter. Well, no matter; Potter'll be dead in less than an hour once we give him to the Dark Lord, and..."

Harry could hear no more. His heart was beating rapidly. So it was Swims who had finished off Emma's father in the end. But that wasn't his top concern at the moment. He had little or no time to get out of the prison, or else he'd be meeting Voldemort for perhaps the last time...

He pushed wildly at all the walls, throwing his body full-tilt against them. On and on he went for what seemed like forever. Finally, he slumped to the floor. It was no use at all. None of them gave at all. He felt utterly depressed, and not just because of the pair of Dementors back in front of the cell. Everything was so completely useless...

"_I need a miracle now_," he lamented miserably to himself, "_The whole wizarding world probably needs a miracle..." _

Suddenly there came a low bark near the front of the cell. A very familiar bark. Harry's spirits soared again. Could it be...?

"Sirius!" he exclaimed softly as the familiar dog hustled into sight by the bars. Staying low so as not to attract the Dementors' attention-which, surprisingly, Sirius's appearance had not, perhaps because he was not in human form-he crawled forward. "Sirius, what are you doing here?" he whispered excitedly, "Did you...?"

Sirius raised a paw close to his mouth, perhaps asking Harry to be silent. Harry obliged, watching as his godfather retransformed back into his human form in a flash. The Dementors turned towards him at last, but Sirius raised his wand in a flash and hissed, "_Lumos maximus_!" aiming right at the one on the right. A bright flash of light-although not as bright as those Hermione and Dumbledore had conjured-burst forth, sending the Dementor fleeing backwards with a screech. Siruis spun and cast the same spell on the other Dementor, also sending it fleeing. He glanced around warily. "We probably won't have much time," he mused out loud, turning back to Harry, "Dumbledore authorized me to get you out, Harry. We've got to hurry. Stand clear."

Harry rushed back to the far wall, just before Sirius muttered, "_Confringo_!" and the cell door exploded with a bang. Harry wondered why his godfather would risk such a loud manner of breaking him out. But part of him didn't care; he was going to be free. He rushed forward and hugged Sirius hard. "Sirius, thank you..." he breathed softly.

"I'm glad you're OK, Harry. Let's move," Sirius took his hand and started bustling hard towards where Harry knew the main entrance was. "Sirius how did you...?" he asked.

"Used a Portkey Lupin created," Sirius said softly, his eyes still glue straight ahead, "It's hidden on the rocks outside; it's timed to return us to Grimmault Place in twenty minutes, so we'd better not..."

He stopped abruptly, and Harry could see why: they'd already been found out. "Well, well, Sirius Black, welcome back," leered Swims, standing at the head of a dozen or so wizards and what seemed like hundreds of Dementors, blocking their path, "I should have figured it would have been you coming for Potter. "Take them both," he ordered his forces...


End file.
